


Storm At The Gates

by Ankaree, LilyK



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Fairy Tale Style, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2013-10-20
Packaged: 2017-12-29 23:23:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1011306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ankaree/pseuds/Ankaree, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilyK/pseuds/LilyK
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When young Lord Ellison rescues a boy from harm he has no idea that years later that same child will play an important role in his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Storm At The Gates

  


Banner by Ankaree

Once Upon A Time... 

Cascadia, Northwest Continent. 

It wasn't often that James Ellison was allowed his freedom. 

It had taken another episode of sheer cunning on his part to have been successful in breaking away from duties at the castle. He waited until the time was right, then cautiously made his way to the stables. Once inside, he stood quietly and listened. When he was sure his guards hadn't followed him, he quickly saddled his black stallion, Pantra. With ease, he pulled himself up and onto the strong, proud back of the beast and crouched low over Pantra's withers. Gently, James nudged Pantra with his heels, and with a whispered steady command, his mount moved sedately forward. 

Once they were out of the stables, James directed his horse toward the forest and the path that would take them away from the estate. The second they entered the copse of trees, James straightened up and grinned. Pantra nickered restlessly, probably sensing the excitement that coursed through James' veins. 

Gathering the reins, James gave Pantra another flick of his heels. His mount needed only the lightest of touches. The great stallion gathered himself, muscles tense, before he sprang forward to gallop across the wide expanse of ground that led them to the sea shore. Once at the beach, James turned Pantra north. As they sprinted along, James reveled in the feel of the wind in his hair and the pounding of Pantra's hooves on the hardened beach sand. 

_Cascadia,_ James thought with pleasure. How he loved everything about it. He loved the sea and the forests, the rolling hills and craggy mountain peaks. And he especially loved his home: a massive castle nestled on a hilltop overlooking this magnificent ocean. He sighed with contentment, relishing the feel of Pantra under him and the wide-open sky over his head. Pantra was built for speed, so it didn't take long for him to arrive at his favorite place: a well-hidden cove. 

This cove was his private retreat, and he guarded his secret with fervor. His cove was quiet and peaceful, the silence broken only by the sound of the waves breaking on the rock-strewn shore and the cry of the gulls. Here his senses were at peace. The noises, smells and sights of the bustling castle seemed far away. 

With a grin, James slipped from Pantra's back and let the reins drop. His treasured mount wouldn't wander far, he knew. He watched as Pantra stretched out his long, graceful neck and pulled up a mouthful of tender grass from a dune. James smiled, rubbing a hand down a sweaty flank. 

"Go, my precious. But stay within the sound of my voice." He tapped the hind quarter nearest his reach. Pantra's skin quivered at the touch and the horse turned toward him, nuzzling his cheek gently before the velvety nostrils huffed hot breath on his neck. 

James laughed, caressing the soft nose. "I love you as well." 

Pantra nickered and turned away, dropping his head to graze. 

James smiled and sank to the sand. He lay on his back and grinned. The sand was warm under him and the sky above him was clear and bright, with white fluffy clouds scuttling across the wide expanse of blue. He closed his eyes and listened. His sensitive hearing took in the waves rolling against the shore, Pantra munching on the sweet grass, and the sea birds calling to each other as they hunted. 

James reveled in the simple fact that here, other than Pantra, he was completely alone. Being alone was a rare and treasured thing, and he felt a momentary stab of guilt. He was being ungrateful, he knew, because his life at the castle was good. He had a fine family, a thriving village, and servants to care for his every wish. Still, sometimes he wished he didn't have so much responsibility to bear. That he could be free to live as he chose. To seek adventure, to travel to distant shores, to perhaps find a companion of his very own. 

A lover... 

But it was not to be. James knew his duty, and it lay with his responsibilities to his holdings, and to his family. He was, after all, the eldest son, heir to his father's estate upon his demise. His father would find him a suitable partner. James felt his time to wed was drawing near. He was, after all, nearing twenty years. Well within the age to accept the responsibility of a wife and children. Yet it wasn't something he yearned for. It didn't feel right for some reason, but he didn't understand why. All men wished for hearth and home. Why didn't he? 

James often worried there was something much more wrong with him than his sometimes uncooperative senses. He admitted to himself that this inner turmoil confused him, and today was not a day for dwelling on such things. Today he wanted to enjoy his freedom, so he dismissed the unhappy thoughts and turned back to his daydreams. 

Steven, his younger brother, idolized him. He followed James' every action, and James knew it was up to him to set a fine example for his head-strong sibling. William, James' father, worked long hours to provide the utmost for his sons. He made sure James and Steven knew their letters, could tally the books, spoke the Queen's English properly, rode well, shot straight, ran an efficient hold, and knew how to save a penny. 

James smiled when he thought of his father and brother, and as always, thoughts of his family brought a sorrowful reminder of his mother's untimely death. Even after fifteen years, since Steven's birth and her passing not long after, coinciding with his own fifth birth day, he still missed her. The portrait of Grace that hung in the dining hall was one of his most favorite things in his father's house. She gazed down on her family, graceful and beautiful, a loving smile on her face. 

Not only was she a caring, generous woman, but she had understood James. It only took a touch of her hand upon his cheek to make his pain go away, to calm his runaway senses when things became too much. Her touch and a softly-spoken word, and his world righted itself. It was on those days, like today when the smells were too strong, when the lights were too bright, when the noises were too loud, that he missed her the most. She knew that even the fine lawn shirt brushing his chest and the velvet breeches touching his legs were painful to him at times. She knew, and she'd helped him to control his pain. In the cool quiet darkness of his small chamber, he would recover with her beside him. Until he righted himself, she remained close at hand, and with the gentlest of touches, stroked his fevered brow. Then, finally, only then did the sharpness recede and he was himself again. 

But she'd been gone many years. And in her absence, he'd learned to cope. Here, in his cove, quiet and cool, with the rhythmic sea to calm his raging senses. He closed his eyes and drifted along, dreaming she was beside him, speaking softly, fingers light on his forehead... 

*** 

Blair Sandburg loved two things in his bleak world: his mother, now long dead, and his horde of books. 

It wasn't easy for a poor orphan boy to find books to read. Not when Blair's uncle was a mean drunk and considered Blair his servant to do with as he wished. Blair kept his books, given to him by his beloved mother, well hidden. He knew Uncle Clyde would snatch them from Blair's small hands and sell them for whatever pennies he could in order to buy more strong drink. So the beloved books were carefully sequestered and only touched when he was sure all was safe. 

Then he would take out his most favorite of the three and he would read. Blair already knew every word by heart, yet he read the book time after time. He loved the feel of the paper under his fingers and the smell of the ink. The book was very old and yellowed, yet the tale was by far the most wonderful thing he'd ever heard. 

Far away, in a distant land, lived strange wonderful people called Sentinels. They fascinated Blair to no end. They were very special because of their amazing abilities: they were able to see, hear, smell, taste, and feel far more than any normal human. Even more exciting was the fact that each Sentinel had a companion, a Guide. Someone important who helped the Sentinel use his gifts for the good of his village, who made sure the Sentinel stayed safe as he worked, who helped the Sentinel to control their special gifts in order to function at his or her best. And most importantly, the Guide had the responsibility of making certain the Sentinel didn't sink into a zone. 

Blair shivered when he read about the zone. It didn't sound inviting that the Sentinel could become overwhelmed from too much sensory input and could fade into himself. It was the Guide's duty to keep the Sentinel from retreating into that state, a terrible place from which he might not recover. A Guide's duties were quite important, Blair realized. Already Blair knew what he wanted to do with his life. Even at this tender age of nine, he knew he was destined to guide a Sentinel. Now all he had to do was find one. 

Turning a page, Blair smiled. He never knew if the story was true or not, but it didn't matter. He spent many hours dreaming of Sentinels, and he hoped with all his heart that some day he would have a Sentinel of his very own. Someone who would take care of him and protect him and he, in return, would take care of his Sentinel with just as much devotion. His mother would have liked the idea. 

Thinking of his mother brought tears to Blair’s eyes. Sometimes he missed her so much. He missed her smile and her touch. He missed their life together, just the two of them. She'd never told him who his father was, but she also never hesitated to let him know just how much he was loved, so he never really felt the loss. 

Her words still echoed in his mind. 

_"I love you, my little Blair, with all my heart, and we will always be together."_

_"Promise, Mama. Forever!"_

She would smile, hug him close, making him feel safe. _"I promise, sweetie. Forever!"_ And he believed her. 

But a year ago Blair's world fell apart. His sweet, loving mother had died. The 'burning sickness' had taken her quickly, and before he had a chance to say good-bye, she was gone. 

He no longer believed in promises or love. 

He no longer felt safe. 

With no other family to care for him, at eight years of age, he'd been forced to move into his uncle's cottage. Clyde was a pig farmer, unmarried and childless. He made it quite clear to Blair that he had no use for a wife or children and he hated having Blair living with him. And so, Blair had no choice but to accept his treatment as a servant if he expected to be fed and clothed. He kept his mouth shut, his eyes down, and he did as he was told. Still, his uncle's hand often flew his way, but in order to survive, he suffered his bruises in silence. 

This night, as Blair was doing his chores, he noticed his uncle sat at the rickety dining table and with beady eyes, kept a close watch on Blair. The tumbler in his hand was never allowed to empty, and the whiskey he drank from his glass filled the air with a sharp, nasty smell. As Clyde grew more belligerent the drunker he became, Blair knew he had to escape before the man touched him yet again. He carefully put away the dishes from the mid-day meal and tried to unobtrusively slip from the room. Perhaps if he took his book and went to his hiding place, then by evening his uncle would be in a drunken stupor. He could safely return to sleep on his little cot in the tiny back room Uncle Clyde had grudgingly said he could use as his own. 

Of course, tomorrow morning, when his uncle awoke, Blair knew he would be soundly reprimanded for disappearing from the farm, but he couldn't help himself. He wanted -- needed to be alone. To read, to dream of Sentinels, and to imagine that special someone who would make him feel safe again. Who would make him feel loved again. 

With a parting glance at his uncle, who seemed to be more interested in the dregs of his glass than with what Blair was doing at the moment, Blair took advantage and made his getaway. Down the hall and into his room, he gently closed the door, grabbed his favorite book, and climbed through the bedroom window to the freedom beyond. 

*** 

Blair hurried along the path that led to his favorite hideaway: a huge, ancient willow. He loved to climb its branches and find a hidden place. The cruel world below never knew he was tucked away, safe and comfortable, high in the dense foliage. 

As he walked, he clutched his book to his chest and dreamed of Sentinels and Guides. He smiled to himself and booted a small pebble with the toe of his old shoe. He'd approached the base of the tree when he was suddenly grabbed from behind and spun around. The book under his arm went flying as he tumbled to his backside. 

"Hey!" Blair yelled angrily, scrambling to his feet. He brushed the dirt from his butt as he took in two of the village boys standing in front of him, laughing and pointing. 

"Well, look who we have here. It is our little hairy Blairy," David Lash teased. He reached down and snatched the book from the ground and danced backward, waving the book just out of Blair's reach. 

His companion snickered. "And you said pigs couldn't walk on two feet," Lee Brackett said derisively. 

The boys laughed nastily. 

"Give it back!" Blair cried as he lurched for the book. Lash easily sidestepped Blair's attempt while Brackett put a foot into Blair's backside and shoved, sending him sprawling into the dirt. 

"You'll be sorry!" Blair said, once again finding his feet. He stood, hands on his hips. "Now give me my book!" 

"Look, Davie," Brackett said tauntingly, "Hairy Blairy thinks he is a big boy now." 

Lash held out the book. "You think you're big enough and tough enough? Come and get it, little piggy." 

Blair rushed forward, ready to do battle for his precious book. He allowed no one else to touch it, and he intended to defend his possession to the death. Lash laughed again and hopped back when Blair got within reach. Hands pushed at Blair's shoulders and Lash moved sideways. Blair once again fell flat on his face. 

Brackett and Lash burst out laughing as they tossed the book back and forth between them. 

"I hate pigs," Lash said. 

"They stink." Brackett sniffed theatrically. "Smells like pig shit to me." 

Lash howled with merriment. "Catch!" He tossed the book to his companion. All Blair could do was watch while Brackett climbed high up into the willow and wedged his book between two branches. 

"You're going to be sorry you touched my book!" Blair snarled. 

Lash only laughed harder, bent down and grabbed Blair's hair. Blair screamed when Lash yanked hard. He’d reached up to rub the sore spot when his arm was roughly twisted behind his back and he was held down. 

"Get off me!" Blair cried, squirming against the painful hold. 

"Not likely, little piggy." Lash shoved Blair's arm hard. 

"Owwww! Let me go!" Tears filled his eyes and began to flow down his face. 

"Aww, look, Lash, the little piggy's crying," Brackett said, kicking dirt at Blair. 

Lash laughed coldly again. "Baby piggy. What a coward." He pushed against Blair's arm again before he finally let go. 

Blair lay in the dirt, sobbing as he moved his wrenched shoulder carefully. He finally rolled to his back and after a few moments, he sat up. 

"Go away," Blair said between hiccups. 

"Piggy. Piggy," Lash chanted. 

Brackett snickered and kicked more dirt onto Blair's legs. 

"Pigs like dirt," Lash commented. 

"He still stinks," Brackett added. 

"Can pigs fly?" Lash asked. 

Blair's eyes grew wide when Brackett grabbed his arm and hauled him to his feet. He cried out when the arm Lash had twisted throbbed with pain. 

"You want the book, piggy? Then climb and get it!" Brackett dragged Blair to the foot of the willow. "Climb!" 

Blair wiped at his tear-streaked face. "It's too high!" 

"Climb!" Lash ordered, punching Blair's tender shoulder. 

Blair cried out, holding the arm tightly to his body. 

"Fly, piggy. We want to see you fly!" Lash shoved Blair hard against the tree trunk. 

Brackett leaned over and grabbed Blair's hair. "If you don't climb, I'm going to pound your face." 

"All right!" Blair sobbed. He sucked in a shaky breath before he glanced up. He'd climbed the tree many times, but never that high. He liked being in the tree's branches but sometimes if he tried to climb too high, he got a funny feeling in his stomach and his head would start to spin. But he didn't have a choice. And he wanted his book. 

Maybe if he climbed up and stayed there, Brackett and Lash would go away. Then he could get his book and go home. Gathering up his courage, Blair started to climb. 

One branch at a time, Blair climbed slowly. His arm throbbed painfully and he had to stop to breathe through the pain several times. He glanced down into the upturned faces of his tormentors who stood snickering and pointing up at him. He tilted his head back, squinting up through the branches. The book still seemed so very far away. Steeling himself, he grabbed hold of the limb above his head, and kept climbing. 

_Don't look down again,_ Blair told himself when he felt the familiar clench of his stomach. He swallowed hard and forced his eyes upward. 

*** 

James blinked slowly and smiled. He'd fallen asleep on the warm sand and had dreamed of his mother. He sat up and brushed the sand from his hands. Pantra grazed a few yards away. Rising, James called softly to the big stallion. Pantra pricked his ears and with a swish of his tail, he plodded through the loose sand to James' side. Speaking softly to his companion, James slipped onto the animal's back and headed down the beach a short distance before he turned into the forest. 

It was cool and damp under the tall firs, and Pantra's steps were muffled by the deep bed of pine needles. He was letting Pantra walk where he chose when a faraway sound touched his ears. James raised his head and glanced around. With a light tug on the reins and a softly spoken "whoa", he brought Pantra to a halt and scanned the far meadow. 

A giant willow tree grew at the edge of the meadow and movement from underneath the tree caught his attention. Automatically, he used his enhanced eyesight to focus in on the activity. Two boys stood under the tree, shouting as they waved their arms and called to something up in the tree. James brought his hearing into sharp focus as he watched one of the boys start to climb the tree. He narrowed his vision even further and saw what held the two boys' attention: a third child high in the tree's branches. 

For a moment, James thought the children were playing. Curious as to their game, he decided to head toward them. He flicked his heels into Pantra's flanks and headed across the meadow. Unconsciously, his hearing focused even more, and he heard one of the children's heartbeats thunder in his ears. Then he heard a cry full of fear. He concentrated on the dual sounds and knew both came from the smallest child in the tree. 

James kept his gaze focused on the boys as he urged Pantra faster. The bigger boy had now gotten within reach of the terrified child and was yanking at the boy's foot while the boy on the ground called out, "Pull him off! See if the piggy can fly!" 

Realizing that the boys were not playing but intended harm to the smaller child, James maneuvered Pantra into a gallop. The horse raced forward. James leaned over Pantra's withers. "Hurry, boy. Hurry!" Pantra seemed to understand the urgency in his master's voice. His gait lengthened and in moments, Pantra had crossed the meadow. 

With a gentle tug of the reins, horse and rider skidded to a halt beneath the spreading willow branches. Amid a choking cloud of dust, and with an angry shout, James leapt from Pantra's back and marched over to the closest child, a scruffy blond boy. The boy had turned, eyes wide, as James approached. James watched the boy's eyes flash angrily then they widened in sudden recognition. Before James could grab the boy and give him a good shaking, he'd already dropped to his knees. 

"Prince -- James!" the boy cried. "Y- Your Highness!" 

James stood over the boy, trembling with anger. "Stay where you kneel," he ordered. Certain his order would be carried out, James turned away. Looking up into the tree, he called up to the second boy. "You up there! Come down immediately!" 

The older boy stopped his ascent and immediately started down. From his body language, James knew he had also recognized who was addressing him. Keeping one eye on the descending boy, he glared down at the figure at his feet. 

"What is your name?" James demanded 

"D-David Lash, Your Highness," Lash said, voice quivering. 

"And the other one who seems bent on bullying as well?" 

"Lee Brackett, Your Highness." 

"Lash and Brackett," James repeated, committing the names to memory. "Have you nothing better to do with your time than to torment those smaller than yourselves?" 

Brackett dropped to the ground and immediately threw himself to his knees as well. James eyed both boys with disgust as they knelt before him, heads bowed. 

"Who is the child you were tormenting?" 

"Sandburg, Your Highness." 

"Blair Sandburg, son of the pig farmer," Brackett added. 

James scowled. "You find honest labor disgusting? I am certain you do not harbor such disdain when that same pig fills your bellies." He paused, but when both boys remained silent, he said, "Well? What do you have to say for yourselves?" 

"No, sir," Lash answered. 

"Yes, sir," Brackett said. 

"Cretins! Punishment is deemed necessary." James was pleased when the boys exchanged frightened looks before their gazes dropped back to the ground. "You are to report to my father's farm by the river, and for two months you will work at no wages." 

"But-" Lash cried out, his head lifting. 

"But what?" James said coldly. 

"Forgive me, sire," Lash said, contempt evident in his tone. 

"Would you disobey me?" James asked quietly. 

Brackett's head rose. His eyes widened at the deadly tone. "No, sire," he answered, jabbing Lash in the ribs. "Thank you, sire." 

"And I will speak with the foreman. If you do not perform adequately, I will find some other occupation for you both that more befits your proclivities. Trust me when I say you will not enjoy angering me further. Now go!" 

James kept an eye on the boys as they fumbled to their feet and raced away, looking back over their shoulders several times. It wasn't until the boys were well away that he brought his attention back to the final small boy. 

Standing under the large tree and looking up, James saw the child was tightly hugging a branch. The fear emanating from the small body told James that he was holding on for dear life. 

"Boy? Blair Sandburg? You may come down now," James called. When the child didn't respond, he climbed up onto the lower branch. "Blair, you are safe now. Please come down." 

Finally, the child responded by glancing down. "I'm -- afraid." 

"You're a strong lad. You can do it." James smiled up. "Come on, little one. All is well and you are a brave soul." 

Their gazes met, and James was suddenly drawn into the blue of the boy's eyes. His own gaze tunneled and he was quickly lost in the depths of innocence he saw reflected there. Deeper he sank when the innocence mixed with heartache and fear until he felt nothing... 

"Please, sir. Please, sir. What's wrong? Please." 

The soft, pleading tone of the child broke through James' limbo. He shook his head and rubbed at his eyes with one hand. 

"I'm -- all right," James said. "Do you wish me to climb up and help you?" 

"If you please, sir." 

"Don't be sad. We all have our fears. It is not something to cause shame unless you are unwilling to face them." 

"Yes, sir. I am afraid. A little." 

James smiled and started to climb. "What is it you hold in your hand, young Sandburg?" 

"My book." 

"Ah," James said, reaching the child easily. "I take it this item holds a place dear in your heart." 

"Yes, sir. It is the most important thing in my life." 

"You speak well for a pig farmer's son," James said, easily smelling the dung that stuck to the child's old boots. "Let's get you down and you may tell me about yourself." 

"Thank you, kind sir." 

James laughed. "You may call me James." 

"I'm Blair." 

The wide blue eyes drew James in yet again, but this time, he forestalled sinking into them with sheer force of will. It wouldn't do for both of them to tumble from this height. And the trust he saw in those eyes surprised and pleased him. For some reason, this one small boy drew his senses together like he'd never experienced since… his mother, he realized with a shock. 

James cleared his throat and focused his attentions on the child. It seemed easy now to control his gift, and in his joy, he smiled at the boy. 

With a shaky voice Blair whispered, "I would like to get down now." 

Chuckling quietly James replied, "I think that is a very good idea. Come. Give me your book and slip your arms around my neck. Hold on tight!" James felt an enormous sense of satisfaction when the small arms circled his neck and clung like ivy to old brick. "Ready?" A small nod, and James tucked the book into the waistband of his pants, then climbed down. 

Once they were on the ground, James released his young charge and reaching around for the book, handed it back to Blair. 

Blair quickly took it, hugging it lovingly to his chest, before looking back up at James with a smile. "Thank you, sir." After a moment, his smile faded and he fell to his knees. "Oh! I didn't know-! Forgive me, Your Highness!" 

Placing his hands under the child's arms, James gently encouraged the boy to rise. 

"No, no, little one, you do not need to kneel before me." James brushed some of the dirt from Blair’s ragged pants. 

"Mother said..." Blair's face paled. 

"For you, it is a special dispensation. We are friends now. I give you leave to treat me as such. You may call me James, and you may treat me as an equal." 

Blair glanced up and after a moment's pause, a smile emerged. "Thank you, sire- James. It is indeed an honor to consider you a friend." 

"You are unharmed, then?" James asked. 

"I am well. Thanks to you, James." Blair grinned. "Where did you send those ruffians?" 

"To my father's pig farm." 

Blair looked surprised before he began to giggle. "Oh! They will not be pleased." 

"But they will learn to be more respectful. At least one may hope that is the outcome." 

James smiled fondly down at the child and ruffled the curly hair. "You seem to have a fondness for books." A nod from Blair and James grinned. "Once I read a story in one of my father's books that if a man saves another man's life, the rescuer becomes their blessed protector for the rest of their lives. It seems that I am in your debt, young Sandburg." 

"You have books?" 

James laughed aloud. He'd just pledged himself to the young boy and yet, the idea of more books was the most important thing to the lad. He liked this boy very much. 

"My father's library has many books. So tell me what is so important about this book of yours?" 

Blair bounced up and down on his toes with excitement. "Oh, it is truly wonderful. It is about Sentinels!" 

"Ah," James answered sagely. "And exactly what are these Sen-" James’ head swiveled quickly and his sensitive hearing picked up the sounds of many horses approaching. 

"What is it?" Blair asked, touching James' hand. 

James felt his senses level out, and it was with shock that he realized the reason for this was the touch of the boy's fingers against his skin. 

"It is... my father's guards. They have discovered me." 

"Were you naughty?" Blair asked, his eyes alight with amusement. . 

James chuckled, impressed with the boy's quick intelligence. He couldn't be more than eight or nine years, yet he was learned enough to read. At the moment, the boy's dirty clothes, unwashed face, and broken shoes told James that he was ill-kept. But at one time, someone must have cared for the child. Not many children were granted the gift of reading and writing, and it spoke of great love. He wished he had more time to speak with the boy, but the approaching hoof beats told another story. 

"Yes, I was very naughty. I am sorry, my friend, but I must be going. I am not often allowed such liberties." James whistled softly. Pantra trotted over and nudged James with his nose. 

"All right," Blair said sadly. 

"Do not sound so disappointed, young Sandburg. We will meet again. I am sure of it." 

Blair looked at James for a long moment before he nodded. "I believe you." 

"Good fellow." James swung himself onto Pantra's back. "Until we meet again, I bid you good life." He turned Pantra away before he tugged on the reins. Pantra circled and James once again glanced down into the intelligent blue eyes. "And stay out of trees." 

With the sound of Blair's giggle echoing in his ears, James rode away, not at all surprised at the sense of loss he felt when he turned from the young boy. But he berated himself for such silly thoughts and felt confident that they would indeed meet again. 

*** 

Fourteen Years Later... 

There were times when he thought he would be better off dead. When his senses were awash with pain, when everything was too bright, or too hot, or too loud, or too smelly. 

At these times, he prowled through the neglected halls of Castle Ellison, fighting back the urge to unleash a savage roar. He felt as though he was a prisoner in his own body, especially during the daylight hours when his control wavered greatly. 

Oh, to have one peaceful day. 

On the worst days, he hated the sunlight. It burned his eyes and cooked his brain. It made his skin crawl. Even then, on those bad days, the normal sounds of the village below were enough to drive him to his knees in agony from the pain. Still, it was better here than outside, in the open. He could do nothing during these trying episodes but keep to the inner chambers and pace restlessly. 

Food was often another enemy. At times, the mildest of fruits or stews would sear the skin from the inside of his mouth. Clothing also betrayed him. It scratched and caused blisters on his skin, making him howl with distress. He often stalked the halls, ripping the material away from his body. Even the air touching his overheated skin seemed to be too much. 

In the night, relief sometimes was his. In the dark, and when the village was asleep, he could venture out of doors and wander the hills or walk along the shoreline. The night birds seemed to hush their calls when he passed by, as if they knew of his pain, and the sea was calming in its rhythmic beauty. Finally, in the dark of night, he found some release from the pain. 

He paused at the window and pushed aside a heavy drapery. The sun was now behind a bank of black clouds. He raised his head and sniffed. A storm was brewing. When he focused, from a far distance, he could hear the thunder rumbling. He pushed open the window casement and let the salt-scented breeze caress his body. 

He glanced down and watched as the waves crashed against the cliffs below the castle walls. Mistakenly, he let himself start to be lulled into himself as he observed the water rush forth then recede. With a quick snap of his head, he yanked his gaze away. 

_I cannot let that happen again!_ he told himself angrily. He knew it was dangerous to become insensate. To wake minutes or hours later and not know what had become of his mind. But sometimes he lacked the will to keep himself focused. Sometimes he was pulled out of himself against his will. Then he would awaken, confused and angry. 

_What God have I angered that would make me endure such a curse! What have I done?_

Railing against the heavens did not solve his dilemma, but often it was all he had to keep himself sane. 

Even more unsettling were the feelings that he harbored about the world around him. He felt an odd connection to the storms because they mirrored his feelings: wild, raw, dangerous. The sound of thunder made him feel frightened yet exhilarated. And on more than one occasion he swore that in the crash of the thunder, he heard the haunting boom of cannons being fired. 

Tiredly he rubbed his eyes and sighed, his shoulders slumping. He couldn't remember being content or happy, or at peace with himself or his world. There were times when he would search his soul, search and feel nothing. Black and cold, was what he felt. There was no compassion, no kindness, no love. He was utterly dead inside. 

_They_ had done this to him; _they_ had made him what he was -- what he had become! 

The Panther. 

Some days, when his senses were out of control, he had trouble remembering his name. Once upon a time, he had a name, a family, a life of joy. But now, his days, months, and years stretched out behind him, empty, and before him, bleak. 

Enough! 

The man known as The Panther continued his prowl. He snarled, and then smiled menacingly. He thought of them, the villagers. Below his castle, they lay in their beds at night, full of fear with the knowledge that he stalked the hills. They had no knowledge of what he was, and that made their fear grow day by day. Many thought him to be a beast, a monster. Some, he knew, called him a ghost or an evil spirit. But those names did not touch him. All he cared about was that they feared him. With fear, he was in control. 

_Superstitious idiots,_ he thought. How easy they were to control because of their ignorance. Their beliefs. Yet even as he understood their trepidations, he feasted on them. His demands were clear and concise. They would abide by his demands, or they would suffer. 

It was almost laughable how easy it had been to reign over the village. One or two deaths from some sickness, and a failed crop season, and they started to look for the source of their woes. When they turned to the castle for respite from the troubles, he made it clear that he had been the cause. That he held their lives in his hands. He coldly offered to relieve the village of its curse in exchange for obedience and anyone who did not abide by his demands would feel The Panther’s fury. The villagers readily acquiesced. 

It was they who dubbed him The Panther. It was the name he took to his breast, and it was his due. 

Unhappily, he realized that the villagers' eagerness to please him only fueled his anger. He felt no satisfaction in inflicting terror, but he was helpless to stop himself from doing so. His mind was not his own, and his heart was cold. At times he despised the villagers enough to consider burning the entire lot as they slept so that they would be gone from his sight forever. But something held him back. Yet he refused to examine this one small part of himself that remained human. 

He stalked down the stairs and made his way to the kitchens. The hearth was cold. There was no food. Hunger gripped his belly. The villagers had better fulfill their duties to provide him with all he demanded, or tonight might be the night he didn't hold back. Tonight might be the night he took a torch to the ignorant masses and rid himself of their fawning faces for all times. 

When his belly rumbled, he snickered. Food might be in short supply, but his empty life seemed to be quite full of loneliness. The Panther threw back his head and laughed. The sound held no merriment as it bounced off the stone walls. He was cursed -- cursed to forever prowl amongst the ruined halls of this Castle. He had nothing: no dreams, no mate, no love, no life. All he had was utter loneliness, despair and anger. He had anger enough to fill ten men. 

But he had a right to his anger, didn't he? How long could a man live like this? Cursed in both body and mind. 

As he stared at the empty larder, his fury grew and his heart tightened even more. He made his way back upstairs and The Panther stopped his prowling, gazing down at the village below. Smoke rose from the chimney fires. The smell of roasting meats and baking wheat reached his nostrils. He tipped back his head and let out a deep growl. 

Oh yes! It was now time. Tonight, he grinned evilly, tonight he would make his demands so high that they would not be able to meet them. Then he would be within his rights to seek revenge on them all. 

Satisfaction would be his. 

*** 

It was with no sense of pleasure that Blair sat in front of the snapping fire, trying to warm his chilled body. Even though the weather was relatively mild, for some inexplicable reason, Blair always seemed to be cold. 

It was with a great sense of loss that he understood the reason for his condition. His precious book about Sentinels was long gone. And with it, his dreams. 

In the five years since his uncle had permanently damaged his leg in a fall, Blair's life had changed drastically. His uncle's injury forced him to sell the pig farm, along with almost every single possession, in order to buy this tiny cottage in the bustling village of Cascadia. That included all of Blair's books. Blair had no choice but to turn over all of his horde of books to Clyde, but he had nevertheless tried to hide his precious Sentinel book. To no avail. His uncle had discovered it. No amount of pleading from Blair had made a wit of difference to his guardian. As his book was taken away, he felt his heart shatter. 

Blair still did all of the chores for them both -- cooking, cleaning, laundry, tending the vegetable garden and the hen house -- and had taken a job in the village to put food on the table. Still, Uncle Clyde never let a day go by without reminding Blair how useless he was and how he never did anything right. 

Rubbing his hands together, Blair shivered. He remembered those precious few days last year when he'd gained his freedom. He'd taken half a loaf of bread, his coat, a few coins and he'd left his uncle's house, sure his uncle would be happy to be rid of him, Blair was surprised when, two days later, his life-long tormentors, Brackett and Lash, descended on his small camp and dragged him back to Cascadia. 

Clyde was far from pleased. Blair's punishment was a hard smack to his face and ten lashes to his back. His skin twitched with remembrance. He'd never felt such pain. Each strike of the whip had ripped into his flesh, eliciting screams that he didn't bother to try and stifle. Sobbing, he'd begged his uncle to explain why he was the recipient of such harsh punishment. The man had stood over him and informed him that until he was twenty-four years of age, Clyde owned him, body and soul. Until then, Blair would remain under his uncle's control and serve as his guardian demanded. In his pain, Blair remembered crying out, _"Why?"_ And his uncle's cold voice told him, _"Because I demand it!"_

Blair despised Clyde. 

One more year. One more year and he would be of age. He would leave the moment the clock struck midnight on his birth day. 

A log shifted and sent a shower of sparks out onto the stone hearth. Blair rose and swept up the cinders before his uncle saw the mess and punished him again. Since his lashing, Clyde had taken to physical punishment on a more regular basis. Blair figured that the years of alcohol abuse had rotted his uncle's mind. When Clyde was once cold and harsh with words and the occasional smack, it was only recently that his cruelty extended to constant abuse. 

One more year! Blair had one more year in his servitude. Legally, when he turned twenty-four, according to the law of the land, he would be free of his indentured status and could leave. He could hardly wait. He counted the days: three hundred, fifty-five days from today he would be a free man. 

Carefully, Blair had planned his last year as a servant, a slave really. His job at the blacksmith's shop was hard, yet he was young and strong. He'd learned a trade, which could prove useful to his future. And he'd managed to hide away a small portion of his wages. Thankfully, the owner, Blackie, liked Blair and disliked Clyde, so he kept a pence or two back from the wages he was obligated to turn over to Blair's guardian. In exchange, Blair worked extra hard for Blackie, and when the year ended, he would have enough to procure a decent domicile in another town, far away from Cascadia. Maybe he'd find a quiet, peaceful village that needed a skilled blacksmith for their very own. Maybe he'd even have enough to buy a few books... 

The loud banging on the door startled Blair out of his reverie. The sound of someone yelling could be heard. _Oh no, not again,_ he sighed as jumped up and yanked the door wide open. 

"Mr. Fletcher?" 

The town's butcher stood in his nightclothes with a plaid blanket wrapped around his shoulders. His eyes were wide and wild when he cried, "The Panther! The Panther! God help us. He is on the prowl." Fat tears rolled down the man's face. "Surely this time, we will all be killed!" 

Blair shook his head in exasperation. "Come now, Mr. Fletcher. I've been in the village many months and never once have I seen this 'Panther' that you are all so afraid of. He does not exist. It is only the young boys playing mean tricks on the villagers. Go home-" 

"Do not make fun of me, laddie! This is no trick," Mr. Fletcher cried, shaking a finger at Blair. "You will see!" 

"Really, now-" 

A loud crash behind Blair made him spin on his heels. The door to his uncle's small chamber had slammed open and a very angry, drunk man rushed toward him. "How many times have I told you to keep quiet while I am trying to sleep!" Before Blair could explain, Clyde had grabbed a handful of Blair's shirt and backhanded him harshly. 

Blair brought up his hands to protect his face. When another blow was not forthcoming, he opened his eyes and saw Mr. Fletcher standing inside the doorway with his hand on Clyde's arm. Blair was stunned to see the expression of anger on Mr. Fletcher's face. 

"It's all right," Blair muttered to Mr. Fletcher and reached up with a shaky hand to touch where his cheek was now throbbing. 

"Stop!" Fletcher cried. "It was not the laddie who disturbed your rest! It's The Panther!" 

Clyde's eyes widened. "The Panther? What kind of foolery is this?" 

"Please, we need Blair to come to the village square immediately! Until now, The Panther was satisfied with food stuffs and fire wood. Now, he sends a note in the old language. None of us understand the old ways but Blair. He must read the message for us or we are all lost!" Fletcher cried. 

Clyde glared at the butcher. 

"I will give you a rack of lamb for his services," Fletcher offered. 

Clyde nodded. "It had better be fresh, or he'll suffer the consequences." Clyde roughly shook Blair by his shirt front. 

Fletcher nodded in return. 

"What are you waiting for, boy? Hurry up!" When Blair turned to follow Fletcher, Clyde put his foot into Blair's backside, sending him sprawling out into the yard. Clyde's harsh laughter burned Blair's ears. "And don't return without that haunch! Worthless bastard..." 

Blair rose and dusted the dirt from his clothes. He ignored his uncle, who followed them, muttering curses all the while. Blair heard Clyde stumble several times. It never failed to amaze Blair that no matter how much his uncle drank, he was still able to function until he finally passed out. 

As Blair trailed behind Fletcher toward the village square, he glanced up. Huge storm clouds had gathered and flashes of lightning lit the night sky. Thunder rumbled across the heavens, and he expected fat drops of rain would descend on him in minutes. 

In the square, the gathered crowd parted when Blair approached, and when he reached the center, Mr. McSweeney, the mercantile owner, held out a piece of paper with shaking fingers. 

"It was on the front door of my place, fastened with a blade," McSweeney said anxiously. 

As Blair read the note, the thunder grew closer and lightning flashed with blinding whiteness. A punch to Blair's arm brought his head up quickly. Lash stood before him, hands on hips. Blair felt a wash of dislike. This man took every single penny his uncle could get his hands on, selling the drunk as much alcohol as he could consume each day. 

With a sneer on his face, Lash demanded, "What the hell does The Panther want this time? He's already taken the best of what we own. What more can we give him?" 

In spite of Lash's bravado and his contemptuous words, Blair could see the fear in his eyes. Before he could answer, the villagers started speaking at once, causing a loud uproar. 

It was the deep booming voice of The Reverend Johnson that finally broke through and demanded the crowd quiet down. 

"We will give The Panther whatever he demands!" Reverend Johnson said firmly. "Whatever wrath he brings upon us, everyone knows that it is only just that his wishes are met! This village owes its very existence to The Panther. He is owed what he demands and more. Much more!" 

"So the tale is true?" Blair asked. "When the castle was attacked by Quinn's bandits, none of you offered assistance?" 

Reverend Johnson nodded. "It is true," he said sadly. It seemed that everyone in the square was now gazing toward the cliffs and the crumbling ruins of the once magnificent Castle Ellison. 

Looking upon the dreary, dilapidated fortress always brought much sadness to Blair's heart. He clearly remembered that day, many years ago, when the dashing prince had come to his rescue. He remembered the smiling blue eyes and the kind voice. The very idea that James had been killed in the attack made him want to cry. As Blair grew to manhood, he had frequently dreamed of James, and often wondered what Prince James would have looked like today had he survived the attack. Blair had firmly believed that one day he and James would meet again. When he'd been told of the deaths of James and his entire family, he didn't -- couldn't believe the story. It was too horrible to imagine. 

Reverend Johnson shook his head. "We were all cowards, but what could we have done? Still, it wasn't right, hiding in our homes while the Ellison family was destroyed. They'd brought prosperity to our village and we repaid them with fear. The mounted riders and the guns frightened all of us, but still, we were many and they were few." 

Blair swallowed around the lump in his throat. "It's true no one survived?" 

"None," Johnson admitted. "Quinn's marauders took all that they could -- livestock, grain, furnishings, and fineries, even the few servants who survived. It took two days to overrun the castle. One of the servants came to beg for help, but he was refused. The castle held no army." At Blair's shocked breath, Johnson shrugged. "We had been a peaceful village for generations. We grew complaisant in our good fortune. Since then, we have paid the price." 

Blair glanced around. While, to this day, the village survived, it was not as prosperous as it had once been. Even he could see the remnants of finer things in the tired buildings and worn villagers. And the ruins of the castle always seemed to overshadow the village, the once beautiful fortress a constant, painful reminder of their weakness and cowardice. 

"And as such, we honor The Panther's wishes," Johnson summarized. "It is our lot." 

"But who is The Panther? Surely, someone has spoken to him," Blair said. 

"The villagers -- we all believe the castle is haunted by the souls of those who perished at the hands of Dawson Quinn. No one dares go to the grounds, even in daylight," McSweeney offered. 

Blair glared at Lash, wondering if he was brave enough to venture forth, but when Lash's gaze quickly slid away from his, Blair knew even Lash, bully that he'd been and unpleasant creature he now was, believed in the spirits. Blair almost snickered aloud. 

"And I repeat, who is The Panther who has all of you so terrified?" Blair asked again. "Have you seen him? Spoken to him?" 

Johnson looked embarrassed when he admitted, "No one has spoken to The Panther. He is a soul that awakens during the harshness of winter and demand its vengeance." 

Blair scoffed. "You believe that? You're a man of the cloth!" 

"The devil exists," Johnson said firmly. "Who are we to doubt the existence of spirits from beyond?" 

Blair had never truly believed that The Panther existed, nor did he believe the stories he’d heard about the Castle being haunted. Ready to dismiss the stories as fanciful, Blair suddenly remembered what had happened to him the week before. At the time, he'd believed it to be his overactive imagination, but now... 

He'd finished his chores and since his uncle was slumped against the table, snoring loudly, he'd sneaked out. He found himself at the beach that always seemed to call to him. He'd walked along, kicking sand and muttering about the injustice of his life, until he'd found a rock warmed by the sun. He'd sat cross-legged on it and glanced upward, smiling when he saw the ruined fortress towering high above him. It was like the castle was guarding him, keeping him safe. He'd started to laugh at the ridiculous notion when suddenly he'd heard a strange sound bounce off the rock face above him. It surely couldn't be what it seemed: the roar of some unseen creature. A sound filled with pain and anguish. With his heart thundering in his breast, he jumped to his feet and turned in a full circle, searching for the source of the terrible noise. 

Blair had waited, but the only sounds that filled his ears were the roar of the ocean's waves and the cry of the gulls circling overhead. Feeling more than a bit unnerved, he'd turned and made his way back up the path that led back to the village. As he hurried home, he kept glancing behind him, expecting something. What, he had no idea. Even when he passed by the ruined castle, all was quiet save the birds chirping and the leaves tickled by a soft breeze. It must have been his imagination. 

The shaky voice of Mr. Fletcher finally broke through his wayward thoughts. "Quiet down! Let's let the lad speak so he can inform us of The Panther's demands!" 

Silence fell over the crowd, and Blair fidgeted when all eyes turned toward him. 

"Ahem, well, it seems that -- The Panther demands thirty-five bars of silver. We must provide this sum within two days' time or..." Blair shifted nervously, "Or he will set the village on fire and destroy everyone." 

The villagers were silent for a moment before voices rose up in protest. 

It was a teary-eyed school teacher, Mrs. Peabody, who stood in the front of the crowd and asked, "How are we to acquire that much silver? Even if the entire village were to gather together, we would not have that much wealth. We are doomed!" She began to sob onto her husband's shoulder. 

Seeing the anxious, frightened faces, Blair took a deep breath and quickly reassured them, saying, "I doubt that this Panther will really expect-" 

"The damned Panther has already stolen everything!" Lee Brackett shouted, pushing his way to the front of the group. "I, for one, am not contributing to this demand!" 

David Lash walked over to his friend and nodded approvingly. "We will satisfy the bastard's demands in another fashion. I'm done giving my life's work to one such as he!" 

The villagers started to speak aloud, each drowning out the other, until the Reverend held up his hands and spoke. "Please! Please. We must do as he says! Our lives and the lives of our families depend on it!" 

The muttering started again until some of the villagers shouted in protest. Others began to sob, while still others talked about taking up arms against the ghost in the castle. Several fights started until Brackett jumped up on an overturned crate and shouted, "Silence!" 

When the crowd settled down, Brackett continued, "Listen to me! I remember hearing something the last time I was in Avastonia on a purchasing trip. I was at the local tavern when I heard the people speaking. It was a similar tale from another village. This place was tormented by a dragon, which lived in the caves deep in the mountains. Each night, the dragon would descend upon the village and snatch up some helpless victim and take him away. Then horrible, terrifying sounds could be heard coming from the caves. 

"The people got together to discuss how to rid themselves of the dragon. None were willing to confront the beast head on, but one in the village passed on a tale he'd heard from yet another town far away. He told of how the beast in this town was appeased with the offering of a virgin." 

Blair crossed his arms. "That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard. You all cannot be ignorant enough to believe in such a tale!" 

Lash smacked Blair in the arm. "Be quiet and listen. We're all willing to do whatever is necessary to rid ourselves of this curse. Aren't we?" Lash asked the crowd. The entire group called out their agreement. 

"This isn't right!" Blair protested. "Reverend, you can't honestly believe this will be necessary, do you?" 

The Reverend looked away. 

Lash shoved Blair hard. "Shut up," he hissed. "Let Brackett continue." 

Brackett sent Blair a glare before turning back to the group. "A virgin, pure in body and in mind. Someone clean and unsullied. Only a proper sacrifice will appease one such as The Panther. Are you all with me?" he added, raising his fist into the air. 

The entire village called out their approval, making Lash grin. Brackett nodded and said, "How will we choose?" 

Clyde stumbled to the front of the crowd. "There ain't many in this village that are virgins. And those few who claim to be probably aren't either!" 

Lash laughed coldly, but Brackett looked thoughtful. He hopped down off the box, reached out quickly and grabbed the front of Blair's shirt. 

"One of us is a virgin," Brackett said. "And he's also kind and gentle and always does as he's told." Brackett pushed Blair into Lash's arms then turned to the crowd. "Blair Sandburg is our offering!" 

"What? No!" Blair cried. "I'm not! I'm... I'm not clean and pure! You can't do this!" He struggled, but Lash held him fast. "Leave me alone!" 

Brackett stepped forward and called out, "Have any of the women of this village bedded this -- man?" When no one answered, he asked, "Have any of the men?" 

The crowd guffawed and snickered. 

Brackett spread his hands out. "There we have our answer." 

Lash leaned close to Blair's ear and whispered, "Now you will get your just due, precious. You should never have refused me. But you never did feel I was good enough for you. Now you will pay for your superior attitude." 

"Get away from me!" Blair yelled, twisting against the firm grasp. "This is crazy! Somebody please help me!" 

The crowd moved closer until Blair was surrounded. He stopped his struggles and gazed from one person to another. From the gleam in the eyes staring at him, he knew he was doomed. 

*** 

"Uncle, please!" Blair pleaded. Clyde blinked stupidly, looking at Blair with disdain. "Please don't let them do this!" When Clyde didn't respond, Blair said, "What about the chores? The wages from my job? How will you feed yourself?" 

Blair's words finally registered. Clyde moved forward. "He's my property!" 

"I'll give you an account at my tavern, good for three months," Lash offered. 

McSweeney added, "You may have credit at my store equal to a half troy of silver." 

"It's not enough," Clyde said. "He's worth more." 

"Uncle, don't do this!" Blair cried, twisting in Lash's hands. "Let me go!" 

Reverend Johnson glanced around. "The village will gather together and give you another two troys. Think, Clyde, that is worth almost a whole silver bar. More than he's worth to you, but for the village's safety, he is invaluable." When Clyde hesitated, Johnson added, "You will also have our gratitude." 

Blair couldn't believe when Clyde's eyes sparkled. He could see that his uncle believed he'd be an important man in the village if he did this. "Please, Uncle. No! My mother-" 

"I agree!" Clyde shouted, holding his fist high over his head. "It is done!" 

Everyone raised a hand over their heads and cheered loudly. 

"No!" Blair screamed, and his struggles increased when Brackett grabbed his legs. He tried to kick out, but Brackett was bigger and stronger. Blair was lifted from the ground and carried across the square, squirming and protesting in earnest. "Let me go!" 

In the distance, the thunder rolled and lightning flashed as the crowd, with Brackett and Lash in the fore, walked to the track leading up to the castle. 

"Bring some rope!" Brackett called. He pulled Blair's old shoes from his feet and dropped his legs. 

Lash twisted Blair's arm behind his back and wrapped an arm around his throat. His foul mouth touched Blair's ear. "Don't you wish that you had succumbed to my charms? Well, it's too late now, Sandburg." 

"Get off me!" Blair cried. Lash merely tightened his hold and Blair felt himself sag as he struggled to breathe. "Please..." he moaned. 

Brackett reached out and ripped the shirt from Blair's body. He tossed the material away and ran a hand down Blair's chest. "He is a ripe one, is he not?" He snickered evilly, reaching out to viciously twist the ring of silver threaded through Blair's nipple. He then shoved his fingers into Blair's hair, roughly pulling Blair to him. Brackett covered his mouth over Blair’s lips, kissing him hard and painfully. Blair could only groan roughly. 

"Oh, I do believe The Panther will be quite pleased with our offering," Brackett chortled aloud. "Don't damage him too much, Davie," Brackett indicated the tight hold Lash had around Blair's throat, "we don't want him dead too soon." 

Lash chuckled. "Of course, Lee." 

Blair took a few shallow breaths when the arm around his throat loosened. Before he could protest against his treatment, his hands were roughly yanked behind him, and tied tightly together. 

"Please," Blair whispered, "don't." 

"On to the castle!" Lash called. 

The entire village shouted their approval. 

With Brackett and Lash on either side of him, they each grabbed one of Blair's arms and jerked him forward. The pain in his arms mounted as he was dragged along. The rope dug into his wrists, he could feel the rough twine cutting into his skin. Still he struggled but he was unable to break free. No amount of protesting had any effect on the crowd's determination. 

With torches blazing, the villagers followed as Brackett and Lash led the way. As they started up the steep incline to the castle, the crowd started chanting, "The Panther. The Panther. The Panther." 

A bolt of lightning ripped across the sky, white hot and blinding, followed by a loud crash of thunder. Suddenly, the heavens opened and cold rain began to pour down on the crowd as they made their way to the castle to present their sacrifice. 

*** 

Moaning softly, Blair shivered uncontrollably as the ice cold drops of rain hit his bare skin. In minutes, his pants were soaked through as was his hair. Water dripped from the ends and sent rivulets of water streaming down his back. He trembled when his bare feet sloughed through frigid water and even colder mud puddles. Brackett’s and Lash's holds did not waver and when his legs buckled, they merely hoisted him higher. Blair cried out as pain shot through his arms. 

"Keep going!" Brackett sneered. "The sooner we get there the better off we all shall be!" 

Another burst of lightning and the crowd cheered. Lash grinned, twisting back to encourage the crowd even more. Blair suddenly felt their hold on him loosen slightly. He lurched forward, breaking his startled captors’ grips and tried to run. 

With his bare feet numb from the cold and with the lack of traction on the slick mud, he barely took two steps when he slipped and fell hard to his knees. Unable to use his hands to stop his fall, Blair toppled forward, his mouth filled with water and mud, and his head cracked on a large rock. His night turned even blacker as he started to lose consciousness. 

A hand slapped his face. Once. Twice. Blair's eyes opened and someone threw more of the dirty water into his face. Blair returned to his senses and spat mud from his mouth. Held up by his tormentors, Clyde appeared in front of him and backhanded him across the face again and again. A hard punch to his gut and he screamed, trying to double over at the pain. Held aloft, all he could do was take the beating. 

The blows finally stopped and Blair slowly raised his head. His stomach roiled and his body shook. He retched harshly while his uncle stood before him, held by two of the villagers. 

Lash spoke from Blair's right. "That's enough, Clyde. Kill him now, and you'll answer to me. He is no longer your property!" 

Clyde glared at Lash for a moment before he shrugged and turned away. 

"Let's move," Brackett ordered from Blair's left. They started forward. Blair had no energy to walk so he was dragged along the stone path. Blood from the cut to his head flowed into his eyes and he prayed for relief from this agony. If only he could faint... 

*** 

It took a few moments for Blair to register the fact that they'd stopped walking. He dazedly blinked the scum from his eyes and tried to focus. Before he could take stock of his surroundings, he was lifted up from the ground. Legs dangling, Blair cried out again at the pain in his arms. He finally realized they had approached the rusty iron gates of the castle and that he was being lashed to one side. He was secured with ropes at his waist before he was spread wide, ankles and wrists tied and secured to the rough metal. 

When the men stepped back and surveyed their work, Blair kept silent, glaring at his tormentors. The rain washed some of the muck and blood from his eyes and in the torches' light, he could see the fear etched on every one of the villagers’ faces. Their eyes kept darting toward the castle. More than a few had started to walk backward, keeping their eyes firmly fixed on the crumbling walls. 

It was raining harder now and as the storm began to extinguish the torches, the villagers turned and ran away in ones and twos, then entire groups until the last person left standing before Blair was the Reverend. 

Sick and in pain, Blair groaned out, "Please, don't do this." 

Reverend Johnson looked sympathetic for a moment but with the next round of lightning and thunder, his face hardened. 

"May God have mercy on your immortal soul!" With those words, the man turned and ran. 

*** 

A huge roar echoed through the night. The earth seemed to tremble and the sky opened even more. Hail started to pelt Blair's body, and each icy drop bit into his skin. Blair couldn't help himself any longer. Huge sobs wracked him and he vainly struggled in his bonds. His only reward was the painful rending of his shoulder muscles and the tearing of the skin on his ankles. 

Suddenly, the roar of some unseen night creature ripped through the air. Blair stiffened in his bonds and blinked. Unable to see anything with the rain and blood still dripping into his eyes, he shuddered involuntarily. It couldn't be! The Panther didn't exist. That wasn't the sound of a marauding panther. Before Blair's befuddled mind could decipher the horrible noise, another frightful sound echoed from the castle walls. The howl of a wolf. 

Blair barely managed to raise his head, and out of the corner of his distorted vision, he thought he saw a large black shape slink around the iron gate, followed closely by a wraith cloaked in grey and white. That was when he knew he was in dire straits. 

Unable to fight off his exhaustion any further, Blair's eyes began to close and with a final shudder, he lapsed into unconsciousness. 

*** 

From high above, in the castle’s tower, watchful eyes were trained on the pinpoints of light as they moved toward the castle. _What in God's name are they doing?_ the watcher thought. He was shocked to see the villagers this close to the castle. They were an ignorant lot, ruled by fear. The idea that they were courageous enough to come this close to what they feared the most befuddled him. 

"I thought I'd find you here." 

He turned and gave an embarrassed smirk. "You always seem to know." 

"I've known you far too long not to sense when you're restless. But why you insist on coming here and prowling the halls is beyond me." 

"It was my home." 

"I know this well, my friend. But now your home is with me, five miles away and much more comfortable. Come, there's a hot meal waiting for us there. And a bit of fresh brew." 

"Your words tempt me, but something is wrong." 

"What did you do?" 

A derisive chuckle burst from thinned lips. "You are a mind reader, Simon." 

"And you, James, are a man who seeks answers. Someday I hope you find them." 

"As do I." James turned back to the window. "Maybe tonight is the night I find that which I seek." 

"I repeat, what did you do?" 

"I allowed the villagers to have their ghost." 

"What?" Simon asked. 

"I made an unreasonable demand. Now we will see." 

"And if you have gone too far this time? Grain and cattle are one matter, but what? Silver coins? First born sons? What did you request?" 

With a scowl, James eyed his companion angrily. "Simon, you know I deserve all of those things, and more," he said coldly. "What they did is unforgivable. A few possessions lost are nothing compared to my losses!" 

"Yes, my friend, I know," Simon agreed, placing a large hand on James's shoulder. His fingers gently squeezed. "Remember, James, I know all too well." 

"Forgive me. I had forgotten your own loss for a moment." They exchanged understanding looks. 

"Why do you torment yourself so? I wish you would not come here." 

James rubbed his eyes. "It is the only place..." He shrugged. 

"You feel close to your loved ones here," Simon said softly. James nodded. "Did you suffer an episode yet again?" 

"Yes. Earlier. I forgot who I was for a time." James turned back to the window and looked out. "What the hell do they think they're going to do? Storm the castle?" Even though the villagers couldn’t hear him he yelled at them anyway, "Well, guess what, you are too late. It has already been done!" 

"James," Simon admonished. "What now?" 

James stalked away from the window, arms crossed. "I don't know! I remember demanding -- something. Silver. Many bars of silver. God, Simon, why me? Why do I live as two men in one body? Is there no help for me? Is there no salvation for my soul?" 

Simon stood close to his friend. "We will find someone. I know we will. You must have faith." 

"Faith!" James guffawed. "I've given up on faith many years ago. For God's sake, Simon. Look at them!" 

With each passing minute, the torches grew closer. He had the ridiculous urge to throw open the sash and shout at them to go away and leave him alone. To threaten them with their lives if they came any closer. God, how he hated them all for what they did. What they failed to do. That they lived and his father, his brother, were dead. 

James cast Simon a bitter look. "If they come any closer, I will-" 

An extraordinarily loud crash of thunder resounded through the air. The entire sky was washed with brilliant white light, sending James to his knees with a cry as he cradled his head between his hands. 

"Arrgh!" 

"James!" Simon was beside him instantly, his hands on James' arms. "Are you all right? Speak to me." 

James shuddered in pain. "No, you stupid food! I am not all right," he growled from between tightly clenched teeth. The sound of his own voice was painful to his ears, and he almost retched from the mounting pain. "Help me." 

Simon's arm slipped across James' shoulders and he held the trembling man. 

"It's all right," Simon crooned. "Breathe steadily. It will pass." 

After many minutes, James felt himself return to a semblance of normalcy. "Simon?" 

"Yes, my friend?" 

"I'm sorry." 

"It is nothing." 

"It is something. I'm just so -- damned tired of it all. My life. These senses. Nothing to live for. So tired. I wouldn't really hurt the villagers, although they are guilty of being the worst of cowards. It was Quinn who killed my family." 

"Shh. Hush now. Don't think about it for a time. Hush. All will be well." 

The night seemed to calm and the storm receded slightly. James finally rose to his feet, with Simon's aid. 

"What are they doing now?" James asked, afraid to focus too much on the crowd lest he suffer a resurgence of the pain that had just now started to abate. His head pounded, but that he could ignore. Headaches were a common thing, and not nearly as horrible as a sensory spike or a loss of consciousness. Those could send him to his chamber bed for hours, if not days. He hated how he felt and how those episodes would cause him to curl into a ball, whimpering like a sorry thing. 

Simon put a light hand on James' sleeve. "Come. I know how you are on nights such as these. I knew you would have failed to light a fire in that cavernous chamber that served as a kitchen. I took liberties myself before I set out to track you down. The hearth is ablaze, and I've brought food and a nice mulled cider. You must be hungry, and I knew you would insist on staying in this dreadful place for a time. At least it will be warmer in the lower chambers." 

"Yes," James said. "I am-" The creaking of the rusty gates reached his ears and he watched in horror as the villagers lashed a body to his gate. "Good God! They've killed someone and put the body in front of my father's home! I swear I will destroy them for this disrespect!" 

Strong hands grasped his shoulders. "James, stop! Calm down and get your cloak. We will go out and see what they have done. Perhaps the person isn't dead. Can you sense anything from the body?" 

"No, my ears still ring from the storm. I sense nothing but a very violent headache. Come." James grabbed up his cloak and tossed it about his shoulders. He strode from the room and stomped down the steps with Simon at his heels. 

*** 

Simon and James hurried out the large main doors that led to the courtyard, and down the stone staircase. The courtyard was empty, every villager gone. 

"Cowards. They ran away as fast as they could. What do they mean by this?" James demanded and prowled toward the body, his long black cloak flapping wildly in the wind. 

The figure's head was bent. Long dark hair hung in wet strands, hiding the face. The body had no shoes or shirt, and the torso was covered with dark splotches. A man, James noted, but otherwise, with all the discoloration on the skin, he couldn't tell if the man's skin merely muddy, or if he had been beaten and the coloring was from bruising. Another glance and he surmised both. 

James moved closer to lift the head and see what manner of creature had been left on his property when he heard a moan spill from cold lips. 

"Simon! He's still alive!" James cried. "Hurry!" 

Simon's eyes widened before he moved quickly. "Hold onto him." 

James held the body close while Simon used his knife to made quick work of the bound hands and feet. When Simon cut through the last of the ropes, the body slumped forward and James allowed it to fall upon his shoulder. He wrapped one arm around the man's legs and the other across his back, holding the man securely. 

"Why would they do this?" James asked as he and Simon made their way into the castle. 

"James, my friend, I believe this is what is called a human sacrifice?" 

"What?" 

"Apparently, our friends have been hearing too many tales around their night time fires. I think they left this -- man as a sacrifice. To appease the angry gods as they do on the continent of Africa and many other exotic places." 

James shot Simon a dark look. "Surely you are joking." 

"Not in the least," Simon said as he led the way into the interior chambers. "Come. The fire I laid should have warmed the kitchen. We can tend to his injuries there. And it is much warmer than your bed chamber." 

"My bed chamber?" James snapped. 

"They did leave you a male sacrifice, after all." Simon said with a chuckle. "Someone in the village must have thought you wanted a man." James let out a growl of displeasure, but Simon merely grinned. "Well," Simon said, "they were correct. After all," he added with a bark of laughter. 

"I'll deal with you later." James eyed his friend. "Now lay a blanket on the table so I can get this cold, wet thing off my shoulder. He stinks as well." 

Simon only laughed even louder as he did as bid. 

As James gently laid the unconscious man on the blanket, he glared up at Simon. "I am so pleased you are amused by all of this." 

"Well, you are the one who wanted to be 'The Panther'," Simon said sarcastically. "You've been granted your wish. The villagers fear you as no other. Enough to prepare you a human sacrifice. You are now a god." 

"Be silent and fetch hot water! And clean rags. This creature needs cleansing or I shall never be able to eat my supper!" 

Simon's deep laugh echoed off the stone walls as he went to fetch the needed items. 

James stared down at the man spread out before him. He had been sorely treated. His wrists were scraped raw from the ropes. His chest was mottled with bruises as was his face. His hair and body were filthy with mud. James leaned closer and saw a large gash on the man's forehead. The cold must have stopped the bleeding for a time, but now that the man's body was in a warm environment, blood had started to seep from the cut and run down the side of his face. 

James examined the man closely. He looked young, underfed but otherwise seemed to be in fair physical shape. James was surprised to see a small silver ring threaded through the man's nipple. That bespoke of gypsy blood. Curious, his hand began to move toward the ring and he had almost touched the piece of jewelry before he realized what he was doing. He snatched his hand back as if he'd been burned. 

What was he thinking? Why had he been drawn to touch the ring? Now that he had a moment to look the man over, he found himself wanting to touch him. To run his fingers through the dirty hair and down the strong nose. To draw his fingers across the full lips and down the lean neck, and downward. Down until he touched-- It was with a snort of disgust that James realized what he was thinking, and he was shocked at his thoughts. This man, a total stranger, seemed to draw him in. He wanted to touch, to sniff, to taste, to take for his own… 

James leaned down, closer and closer, until his nose almost touched the cold skin of the man's cheek. He breathed in and warmth rushed through his body. He held his breath as his headache receded and his body hummed with pleasure at the man's own scent. A scent he could detect even though the dirty body was covered with mud. 

"James?" 

With a start, James stumbled back, almost falling to his backside. 

"Are you well?" Simon asked, dumping the contents of his arms onto a small sideboard. "I've brought bandages and liniment. And a spare dressing gown. Soap, towels, and scissors." 

"Scissors? You are not cutting his hair!" James all but shouted, glaring at his friend. 

Simon looked surprised. "What?" Then he shook his head. "No, not to cut his hair. To remove his trousers. What has got into you? Are you ill?" Simon began to cut away the pants while James brought a pot of water over from the hearth. 

"I'm fine. It's just..." James dipped a rag into the water and began to wash away the grime from the man's face. 

"Just what, my friend?" 

"He seems so familiar." 

"You know him?" 

"I do not recognize him, yet my senses say that I do." 

"Trust your instincts." Simon tossed the ruined pants aside and shook his head. "God, but he is dirty. And look at these bruises! Give me a rag. What a shame." 

Together the two men washed the damaged body until they had removed as much grime and mud as they could. 

"Hold him up, Simon. I will bathe his back. Gently." 

"James, you act as if he's the most precious thing you own." 

"Maybe he is. Damn all that is holy!" 

"What?" 

"His back. He's been lashed. This is beyond cruelty." 

"It is the way of the world, James. Men are cruel." 

"Which is why I chose to avoid them as much as possible. Lie him back down." James rinsed out the rag yet again, and he noticed the water had turned dirty once more. Would this slight body ever be clean? "His hair is disgusting." 

Simon held out the scissors, snapping them open and closed. "We could-" 

"No!" 

"All right. Calm down. What will you have me do then?" 

"I will hold up his shoulders and head. You will wash the hair over a pot. We cannot put him into bed with such filth on him." 

"Whose bed will he go into?" Simon asked with a chuckle. He found another pot and put it under the man's head and began to rinse more warm water through the locks. Soap followed, then another rinse. "There. That is much better." 

"Good. I wish he would awaken." James reached out and lightly stroked his fingers through the clean hair. "And to answer your insulting question, he will go into my bed." 

Simon laughed. "I thought as much. He's been roughly treated. A good night's rest in a warm bed will greatly help his condition. I doubt that one such as he has ever slept in a feather bed before." 

"You are too persistent for one of your station." 

"He has enough hurts to require all the ointment we have. And that cut needs dressing." 

"Then see to it." 

"You are sometimes much too demanding." 

"And you sometimes do not remember your position." 

"I remember it," Simon smirked. "I just choose to ignore it." 

James sent him a sideways look and chuckled. 

Putting one last dressing on a bleeding wound, James took a step back. "Okay, Simon, let's get him to my room." Working together, the injured man was wrapped in two blankets and carried to James' chamber, where he was cocooned under a fur coverlet. 

"I'll leave a lamp burning in case he wakes," Simon said. "So he's not frightened," he explained. 

"You are a good man, Simon." 

"As are you. When you want to be." 

"Tonight, I do not feel benevolent. I feel like riding into the village as one of the hounds of Hell and burning the entire thing to ashes." 

"Then the villagers would be led to believe that their sacrifice was for naught. They might take it to offer another." 

"Good God." James sighed. "All right. No burning. Not tonight anyway." 

Simon smiled. "Good. Now, he's sleeping, and I'm starving!" 

"As am I." 

"You are hungry?" 

"Don't look so surprised. Yes, I am." 

"And your senses? Are they within reason?" 

"Yes. They are fine." 

"Is he responsible in some way?" 

James pressed his fingers against the man's brow. "He seems to be warming and I don't feel a fever." To Simon's question, he finally responded, "I don't know." 

With a raised eyebrow, Simon clapped James on the back. "Maybe this sacrifice was a good idea after all." 

"You are a strange soul." 

"Then we make a fine pair." 

James smiled before he looked again into the slumbering face of the man they'd rescued. "Will he live?" 

"His breathing is easy and his heartbeat is strong. I do believe he will." 

*** 

Blair slowly surfaced, feeling quite warm and very comfortable. He couldn't remember ever feeling so cosseted before. Turning to his side, he curled up and sighed contentedly. The material under his cheek was soft and smooth, and he rubbed his face on it with pleasure. The scent was heady, a mix of sandalwood and fresh sea breezes. 

Realization suddenly dawned. Where was he? Blair's eyes flew open and he came fully awake. Startled at his whereabouts, he sat up too quickly, and his entire body screamed in protest at the jarring movement. 

He groaned deeply; his head throbbed and his ribs ached. Even raising his arms caused pain. With determination, Blair scrubbed at his eyes and glanced around. He definitely wasn't in his uncle's cottage. The window was covered with heavy draperies, but from the small slit in the center, he knew it was night time. 

Another survey of the room and Blair observed a fire burning in the grate. The low light from the small blaze cast the room in shadows, but he could tell the walls were hewed from stone and the ceiling soared above his head. In spite of the size of the chamber, the air was comfortable, with no hint of chill. 

Blair squirmed under the covers when his body let it be known that his bladder desired attention. With another glance, he looked for and spied the chamber pot. He slowly pushed aside the blankets and gingerly rose from the warmth of his cocoon of blankets. As he straightened up, he hissed in pain as his body protested at the movement. Naked and unsure, he stood for a moment and hugged himself at the sudden loss of all that comforting heat. 

Suddenly, the hair on the back of Blair's head stood on end and his skin broke into goose flesh. He carefully turned in a full circle, and his gaze searched the corners of the room that lay hidden in darkness. 

"Who's there?" Blair demanded. "I know somebody's here. Who are you?" 

Blair stumbled backward, sitting on the edge of the bed. The pain spiked but fear overrode his discomfort for a moment. He reached for a blanket and pulled it close, covering himself. "What do you want?" 

He blinked, intently examining the shadows. He couldn't see anybody, yet every instinct he possessed told him he was not alone. He closed his eyes and took in as deep a breath as his aching body would allow before he slowly exhaled. With a rush of remembrance, everything that had transpired earlier came back to him and a cold wave of fear swamped him. He'd been tied to the gate of the castle. He'd been left by his uncle and the villagers for a sacrifice. 

For The Panther. 

The Panther! Was that who lurked in the shadows? But no, The Panther was a myth. He did not exist. All that still inhabited this old castle were restless spirits of the victims of Dawson Quinn. But yet, he felt something strange. A presence. Somehow he knew that whoever lurked in the dark possessed power. 

Blair squinted as he struggled to make sense of the shadows that danced in the fire's flickering light. There! In the far corner, a shape. A man's shape. Now he could see the shadow move slightly. He knew he should be frightened, but for some inexplicable reason, the first wave of fear receded and he realized he wasn't really scared. Well, maybe just a little. 

Blair cleared his throat. "Only a coward would lurk in the shadows. Show yourself." He waited, wondering exactly what he would do if the shadow came forward and revealed itself as The Panther. Not that he knew what the creature would look like, but his mind furnished the vision of a large, hairy hulk of a man with straggly hair, long, sharp teeth, and nails long enough to scratch a man's eyes out. 

Only a few moments passed when he heard the rustle of clothing and a form emerged from the darkness. The figure walked into the firelight and the size indicated it was indeed a man. He was cloaked in a long black robe with a hood which was pulled down, covering his face. As hard as Blair stared, he couldn't make out any individual features. 

"Who are you?" Blair asked. 

"There is no need to be frightened." 

"I'm not frightened. I'm grateful for what you did. Thank you. If not for you, I'd be dead." 

"You're welcome. Are you hungry?" 

"Yes. Very much so. I also... Ah, need to urinate. If you don't mind." 

"No, I don't mind in the least. There is a chamber pot to your right." 

Blair nodded, but when he stayed on the bed with the blankets pulled up, the man asked, "Do you wish assistance?" 

"No." 

There was silence for a few moments before the man chuckled. "Oh. You are hiding because of your nakedness, and I am interfering by standing here and watching you. You're embarrassed." 

Blair tipped his chin up and glared. "I am not hiding at all! I'm just not used to being stripped naked by strangers. Nor am I used to performing nature's functions with an audience!" 

Now the man laughed aloud. "I must say, youngster, that while it may seem like an untoward move to you, it was impossible to clean you up without removing those trousers. They were as covered with mud and manure as you were. And it was indeed my pleasure to strip you naked and wash away the grime." 

Blair's scowl deepened. "You are indeed forward." 

"I am indeed." 

"Besides," Blair said petulantly, "I'm not the one hiding behind a cloak. You've seen every inch of me and I have yet to see even your face. Now who is the frightened one?" 

"It is for your safety that I remain unknown to you." 

"My safety? That makes no sense. You are hiding so you must be the one the villagers refer to as 'The Panther'. You are the one who torments and frightens the villagers, and who demands retribution." 

The man drew closer and his voice was low and cold when he said, "You have no idea what you're talking about." 

"I know exactly what I'm talking about. I know what happened in this castle, and you have no right to dishonor the fine family who died here at the hands of a renegade!" 

"What do you know of the family who died here? You have no idea what was lost! I will not tolerate such insolence. Not in my house and in my bed!" 

Blair threw back the covers and again forgetting his injuries, he slipped from the bed. He stood tall and said, "Well then, give me my trousers and I will be gone from this house and from this bed! I did not ask to be put here in the first place!" 

The man moved like lightning. In moments, he was on Blair with his hands clamped around Blair's upper arms. The rushed movement had caused the man's hood to fall back and ice blue eyes angrily flashed fire. Their gazes met and locked and Blair felt a wash of recognition. He gasped. No. It couldn't be. This man was dead! Killed in the attack on the castle. Prince James was dead. Yet here he stood, full of life. His rough touch sent ripples of pleasure through Blair's entire body. It was as if Blair's very soul recognized James. Recognized that James was what he had sought all of his life. Even without James speaking another word, Blair knew. 

"James," Blair breathed softly. "It is you. This is your home. You're alive!" 

"Who are you?" 

"You do not know?" Blair asked, tipping his face up. "Remember, James. Think back and if it meant as much to you as it did to me, you will remember." 

James studied him for a minute and they his eyes widened. "I-It can't be." He reached out and lightly stroked a finger along Blair's cheek. "Blair." 

"Yes," Blair breathed out the word. He moved closer until his body was mere inches from James' and he reached up a hand to put against James' cheek. "I have dreamed about you for years. Longed for you." 

"But how could you have known? You were but a child." 

"I've always known." 

"Oh, God," James whispered. 

"Kiss me." 

James' eyes narrowed and his hands tightened. He pulled Blair to him and fused their mouths together. Blair moaned and parted his lips. James kissed him deeply for many moments before his tongue dipped into Blair's open mouth, making Blair shudder with the force of the emotions roiling inside him. The villagers did have one thing right: he was a virgin, yet this man excited him beyond reason. He knew exactly what he wanted and what he wanted was James. 

He would not be a virgin much longer, if he had any say in the matter. 

James continued to kiss Blair with a passion that Blair felt would consume him. He felt his knees shake and when he started to sway, he was scooped from the floor and gently laid on the bed. A warm hand touched his brow. Blair tried to rouse himself, but the night's events had taken their toll. His energy seeped away and lethargy covered his mind. 

"I'm sorry!" James whispered. "I shouldn't have. You are injured and something tells me you are... untried." 

"Humm?" Blair tried to rouse himself, yet sleep dragged at his body. Every ache and pain made itself known, and his body demanded rest. He finally managed to ask, "Untried?" 

"A virgin. I must not. I'm sorry," James repeated. 

"Don't be sorry," Blair whispered, "It was wonderful. The way I dreamed it would..." Then he fell deeply asleep with the sweet memory of James' lips on his. 

*** 

In the kitchen, James paced restlessly. "A virgin," he mumbled aloud. Sandburg was a virgin. He could hardly believe it. What more could he ask for? The man was perfect. That tempting mouth. The taste of his lips. His soft, curly hair. And his eyes. Blue as the summer sea, with a storm brewing on the horizon. 

And his body. When he healed, he would be perfect to James' eyes. Lean, lithe, compact. James wanted to taste every inch of that beautiful body, to run his hands over the soft, hairy skin. To dip his tongue into his navel, into his ear, into his... James blushed. 

"Why did he have to appear on my door?" James growled. "God help me!" 

"James, if you don't sit down, I will knock you into the chair! You are wearing a path in the very stone!" 

"Simon, do not toy with me this evening!" 

"What has transpired?" Simon asked, eyebrow arched over one dark, twinkling eye. 

James stopped and glared at his companion. "It is none of your affair!" When Simon remained quiet and simply quirked an eyebrow again, James released a frustrated growl. "Okay. Fine! Simon, he is just an innocent child. The damn villagers seem to think he is worth the silver I demanded. They beat him, dragged him here, tied him to my gate, and left him there to die, hoping that _The Panther_ would be satisfied and leave them alone." 

"James, he is no child and as far as being innocent -- how innocent do you think he truly is? How do you even know he is a virgin? Maybe this is all something the villagers thought up to see if The Panther really exists." 

"Well if they did, he had nothing to do with it. He told me he was a virgin and you know very well that I would be quite aware if he was lying." 

"Yes, I know you would," Simon replied. 

"His name is Blair Sandburg and I've met him once before…" James went on to tell Simon about how he had helped a young child fourteen years earlier. 

Simon released a knowing laugh. "Ah, now I understand. It seems our small guest has somehow burrowed under your skin in just a few moments. He is quite the sorcerer, I see." 

"What do you know of it?" James demanded. 

"I see a change in you already, my friend." 

"Such as?" James asked, throwing out his arms. "Oh mighty seer, what do you see?" 

Simon's teeth showed white against his dark skin. "I see that you have become smitten." 

James released a burst of laughter. "You are quite mad." Turning away, he stalked over to the fireplace and stared into the flames. "I don't wish to hear any more of this nonsense. Go away!" 

"Will it change anything if I leave?" 

James scowled before he finally admitted, "No! Damn you to hell!" 

"Why do you take your good fortune out on me with such temper?" 

"I didn't ask for a damned virgin to be dropped on my doorstep as a human sacrifice?" 

"The gods work in the ways that are mysterious to man." 

James snorted. "Such wise words tonight, Simon. Wait. Let me write that missive down for future reference." 

"You are a trial, James." Simon poured two glasses of wine, moved to stand next to James and handed one to him. "Drink, my friend." 

"To what?" James asked, taking the offered glass. 

"To the change that Blair Sandburg has wrought." 

"And what would that be? In your esteemed estimation, of course." 

Simon smiled. "You care for the lad, James. You no longer wish to be alone. You no longer wish to seek revenge for your lost loved ones. You are finally willing to be at peace, and to be loved. It is a wondrous thing for a gentle man." 

James laughed in disbelief. "Gentle? Me? Hardly." 

"Oh, yes," Simon said with confidence. "You are gentle. And kind. Or else you would have wrought havoc on that village years ago. Even with what they had done, or not done, as the case may be, you could not seek true revenge. You might despise their cowardice, but you are unable to harm another soul. You are a good man, James Ellison." 

James turned toward Simon and blurted, "I kissed him!" 

With a nod, Simon asked, "Did you like it?" 

"Yes," James replied without hesitation. 

"Well, then, that is good." Simon placed a hand on James' shoulder and gave him a gentle shake. "It helps to enjoy sexual encounters with the person you love." 

"You are an ass." 

"And you are in love." Simon examined James intently. "How are your senses?" 

James came to a full stop and remained silent for a long minute until he gazed at Simon, unable to keep the astonishment from his face and his voice. "They are well." 

"Then it is good he has come." 

"But he's a virgin!" 

Simon laughed, making James scowl even more. "James, James, you make it sound like some insurmountable obstacle. All of us were virgins at one time. Even if it was such a long time ago that we barely remember." 

"That's not the point!" James exclaimed, flinging his arms wide. "He already seems to trust me!" 

"So then be gentle and kind and loving." 

"It can't be that easy. Life is never that easy. Not for me." 

"Fate has smiled on you this night, James. I believe you should thank whatever gods you hold in esteem and stop being such a bastard. For a change." 

"Go to hell." 

Simon merely laughed again. 

*** 

Blair tossed and turned in a dream filled sleep where monsters walked the night, chasing him until he could run no longer. Out of the distorted shapes that danced across his dreamscape, vivid, ice-blue eyes peered out, melting into a face that he couldn't quite make out. The intensity of those eyes burned into his soul. They were so familiar... 

Waking suddenly, Blair's eyes flew open. Memories flooded back. He once again remembered the previous night. He remembered what the villagers had done to him. What his own uncle had agreed to. He remembered the stranger in the shadows, the hooded figure's face revealed, and he remembered the kiss. 

_Prince James is alive! And he kissed me!_

With his fingers pressed to his lips, Blair felt himself shudder. Oh, God. That kiss. It was all he'd ever dreamed. And more. He'd been kissed by a man. A wonderful man. Blair sat up in bed and rubbed a hand over his face. 

But The Panther was a killer, was he not? Blair thought back on the tales he'd been told since he and his uncle had come to this village. The tales were harrowing. The Panther stalked the night, stealing babies from their cradles and new-born calves from their mother's teats. The Panther took the best of the harvest and the fresh-cut firewood. 

Seemed this Panther didn't use much of his ill-gotten gains in his home, Blair realized, glancing around. The chamber's furnishings were old and well-used. Nothing spoke of stolen goods here. Maybe The Panther sold the booty he purloined from the hard-working villagers. 

Blair let out an angry snort. Hard-working villagers. What a laugh. They were a raggedy lot, and lest he forget, more than willing to toss him to the wolves. 

The wolves... Didn't he see a wolf last night when he'd been lashed to the gate? A shiver crawled up his back as he took stock of his own body. He was bruised and battered to be sure, but nothing felt broken. He could ignore the aches and pains. Sliding out from under the blankets, he glanced around, looking for clothing or something adequate with which to cover himself so he could get out of this place. 

After a fruitless search, other than the bed linens, he'd found nothing more than a scrap of woven linen that he wrapped around his body and tucked firmly at his waist. He then walked on bare feet to the door and turned the handle. When the door did not yield, he felt a rush of fury. 

"Hey!" Blair yelled, pounding on the door. "Let me out! I demand to be released!" When he received no response to his calls, he made his way to the window and peered out. It would be dangerous to try and climb down from this height, but even that danger was more acceptable than what might lie in wait for him if he stayed. Maybe if he tied the blankets together... 

Blair had no sooner made his decision when hands clamped on his shoulders. He let out a startled scream. A huff of warm air brushed his ear when soft words caressed his skin. 

"Hush. I will not harm you." 

Blair stilled. "James?" He began to squirm, attempting to turn in the firm hold. "Let me see you," he demanded. 

"No. Do not turn around." James' hold tightened. 

"Why not?" 

"I'm not -- ready." 

"What?" Blair frowned. "I don't understand." 

"Please. For now." 

Blair couldn't resist the pleading tone in the softly-spoken request. The hands on his shoulders remained very still, yet they did not attempt to move away. Blair astonished himself by leaning back into the touch, and he let out a sigh of pleasure when he rested against a very solid body. His own hands moved up to cover the ones at his bare shoulders, and his fingers pressed against them. 

"Why did you lock me in?" Blair asked evenly. 

"I'm sorry. It wasn't to frighten you. I was worried you might wander in your sleep. There are passageways that are dangerous from falling stones and collapsed walls. With the rains last night, I feared for your safety." 

"Oh. Thank you for your concern." The large hands started to move slowly, kneading gently. Blair whimpered, his blood quickening. 

"God," his unseen companion whispered. "You are so..." 

A brush of skin on Blair's neck. A nose, he realized, as it tickled a path from behind his ear to his collar bone. The man was what? Scenting him? It was too unreal. He was in James' bed chamber. He was naked except for a scrap of cloth. His blood was singing like it had never sung before. He was being seduced. And he wanted whatever this man would give. All of it. Now... 

"Please," Blair asked, unable to keep the need from his voice. 

"What do you desire?" James' warm breath ghosted across Blair's neck, causing a shiver of excitement to move through him. 

"I want to look upon you." 

"You will be disappointed." 

Blair smiled and shook his head. "Never." 

"Then-" 

A sharp rap at the door, and Blair found himself pushed away. The cloth around his waist slipped and by the time he snagged it and turned, the hooded man was hovering in the doorway, holding the door open for a very large black man, who bore a tray covered with dishes and jugs. 

"There is no need to be frightened," the James said to Blair. "This is my friend, Simon. He will care for you." 

Blair lifted his chin. "Why do you always assume everything frightens me? It does not. Besides, I'm starving!" 

"I like a man with a good appetite." Simon chuckled, placing the tray down on a small table. 

Blair moved closer to Simon and the enticing aroma of food. "I'm Blair Sandburg." 

"So I've been informed. And I am Simon Banks. Eat while it is hot. It is not fancy, but it will do. You need some meat on your bones." 

Blair blushed under Simon's smiling appraisal, but it was the look Simon cast at their companion that made Blair feel vulnerable. He felt naked. He _was_ naked! With as much dignity as he could muster, Blair stalked over to the table and sat down, firmly tucking the cloth across his lap. He picked up a spoon and pointed it at the hooded man. 

"Please bring me some trousers and a shirt. Shoes or boots would be appreciated at well. Oh, and James?" Blair paused, making very sure that James knew he hadn't been fooled in the least by the silly get-up. "Discard that ridiculous cloak." 

The sound of Simon's deep laugh echoed off the quarried rock walls. 

*** 

James knocked on the chamber door and when it was yanked open, he held out the clothing. Blair glared, pulled the items from his fingers and slammed the door in his face. James clenched his hands. Of all the impertinent...! 

The door flew open. "Well, don't just stand there! I'm sore from head to toe. Help me dress." 

James returned Blair's glare with an equally exasperated one. "Are you always this irritating?" 

"No, only when I'm being held hostage!" 

Stalking into the room, James stood over Blair, arms on his hips. "You are not a prisoner!" 

"And you are really starting to annoy me," Blair said, taking a small step back. 

James frowned. "What?" 

"Nothing." Blair waved a hand around in the air. "Never mind. Give me a hand. Please? Everything hurts." 

Moving closer, James lightly placed a hand on Blair's bare shoulder. "You took quite a beating last night. I have some liniment-" 

"No!" 

James saw Blair's sudden blush, and he was almost overwhelmed by the flush of arousal that wafted his way. He swallowed hard, his own body responding to his companion's sexual awareness. He knew he was staring, but he couldn't help himself. Blair was -- beautiful. 

Long, curly hair tumbled around his shoulders, a soft brown halo. Wide, intelligent blue eyes that saw everything. A firm chin covered with a day's growth of beard only added to his attractiveness. His mouth was pouting, the lower lip jutting out petulantly. 

James carefully scanned Blair's body. The man had said he was sore and hurting, and James could sense some of the heated bruising beneath the discolored skin. He cataloged the stiffness, but while it might be a bit uncomfortable, Blair was far from immobile. In fact, if James' senses were working properly, as they seemed to be, he would have said Blair was -- lying about his injuries. And he wondered why that was. 

Nostrils flaring to take in the scent of the man before him, James moved forward. Blair's eyes widened and the clothing dropped from his fingers. Reaching out, James tugged the cloth loose, and Blair was finally standing before him, naked and breathtaking. 

"You are mine," James said softly, tenderly. He lowered his face, keeping back just enough so that if Blair wanted contact, he would initiate it. When James' lips touched Blair's, Blair whimpered and swayed. Still James held back. As much as he wanted to wrap his arms around Blair and hold him close, he used every ounce of will power to wait. 

Then it happened. Blair took half a step forward and fell into James' arms. Their mouths locked, they kissed for many moments until Blair truly did shudder and his knees gave way. 

James swept him from the floor and laid him out on the bed, a feast spread before him. To devour as he saw fit. He moved closer... 

*** 

Blair lay splayed out on the bed. His body ached for James, as did his heart. Why he felt such a sudden pull to this strange, handsome man made no sense, but right now, he had no desire to fight the need racing through his every cell. He waited with anticipation, knowing that James would be experienced in the ways of loving. James would be gentle. He knew this to the very core of his being. 

He gave what he hoped was a seductive smile, owing to his very limited experience with seduction of any sort. James smiled and moved closer, and behind James, the clouds cleared, pouring bright sunlight into the room, lighting every corner. 

Blair watched in horror as James lurched to a halt, throwing his arm over his eyes. He let out a painful moan and fell to his knees. Blair was on the floor beside James in mere moments. 

"James! What is it? James!" 

"Arrgh! My eyes! The light. It burns!" 

Blair looked for the source of the discomfort, but the only light in the room came from the natural sunlight shining in through the windows. How could it cause James such pain? How...? With a rush of understanding, Blair knew. Deep in his soul he knew, without a doubt, James was a Sentinel! 

"Oh my God," Blair whispered. "You are. You are!" 

"Please," James whimpered, falling into Blair's lap. 

Blair's hand pressed against the one James had clamped over his own eyes. "Shhh. Listen. You must listen." Blair stroked James' arm before he captured his free hand and laced their fingers together. "James, I understand. I have read about those such as you. It is amazing and wonderful, but you need help. I'm here." 

"Please..." 

James shuddered in his arms. Blair gathered him close and spoke directly into his ear. "Listen to me. Focus all that you have on my voice. It is within you to control this pain. To control each of your senses so that you are master, not slave. But you must help me." 

"Yes. Yes," James blurted out. "Anything." 

Blair almost smiled. "I'll hold you to that promise. Now you must think of something familiar and easily brought to your mind. The sundial in the garden. The intensity you feel is at your fingertips. Figuratively, of course." When all James did was whimper, Blair gave an irritated snort. _Good God, Blair, the man is in pain! Stop with the lecture and get on with it,_ he chastised himself. "The brightest of the light is at the count of twelve. The dimmest is at the notch of one. In your mind, turn the sundial down a notch at a time until the light no longer pains you." Blair stroked James cheek. "Do you understand?" 

"Yes," James whispered. 

"I will count to help you concentrate. Twelve, eleven, ten, nine, eight, seven..." Blair’s gentle voice and touch seemed to be working and the muscles under his hand slowly began to relax. "Better?" 

"Oh, God." James lifted his head slightly. "Much better." 

"Is it now no longer painful?" 

James blinked, tears running freely down his face. "Hurts, but much better." 

"Let's give them a rest. Six, five, four. There. Set the dial for your vision at four for a time and let your eyes have respite." Waiting patiently, Blair gave James time to recuperate. When James pushed up and away, Blair let him go with a departing pat. "You did well." 

James swiped at his eyes. "Thanks to you. How did you know?" 

Blair smiled. "You don't remember?" 

"I remember rescuing a small boy all those years ago. It was you, that much I know, but about the rest of it..." James waved a hand haphazardly through the air. 

"The book I was so adamant about rescuing from the tree? It dealt with those such as you. Sentinels." 

"The book...? Oh! The book! That was your book?" 

James' brow furrowed in such an adorable fashion that Blair giggled. "Yes, James, it was my book." The sorrow he felt at losing his book came back with a vengeance. He turned away from the interested gaze, and bit at his lower lip. "But no longer, I'm afraid..." 

James was suddenly on his feet. "I will return!" 

Blair sat where he was, a trifle stunned about what had transpired and James' sudden departure. He barely managed to clamber to his feet, glance down at his still naked body, and shake his head. He was destined to be unclothed today, it seemed. Again, he wrapped the familiar cloth around his waist when James burst back into the room, waving something in his hand. He thrust it at Blair so hard that Blair almost tumbled backward. 

James grabbed his upper arms, laughing. "Look!" 

Blair glanced down and his mouth fell open. In his hands, he held what he thought he would never hold again. Ever so slowly he raised his face, his eyes suddenly damp. "It's my book! My Sentinel book!" 

"Yes!" James chortled. "I bought it years ago from a bookseller pushing a tattered old cart! I don't know why but I had to have it. I've read it many times, and while I understood the tales of sentinels of old, I didn't know how to apply those marvelous words to my own plight. But somehow you knew. You know." 

"Yes, James. I know," Blair said with a warm smile. 

Stepping closer, James ran his hands slowly up and down Blair's arms, luxuriating in the feel of the soft skin. "You are my bonded mate." 

"Yes." Blair grinned, still clutching the book close to his chest. "Now will you kiss me? And please, afterward, help me with my trousers!" 

James laughed, and did as bid. 

*** 

Nighttime was quiet. The storm had long since passed and the sky was a blanket of velvet with dots of light. The moon shown a half crescent, casting more than enough light into the bed chamber that even one without Sentinel sight could have seen the man nestled beside him. 

But James did have the sight, and he used his ability to allow himself to drink in the figure curled next to him. Reaching out, James gently slipped his fingers through the fine strands of silky hair that lay spread across the clean sheets. 

Blair was wondrously beautiful as he slumbered. He was exhausted, James knew. He grinned, pleased at the thought and the reasons. It had been a miraculous day. After they had kissed early in the morning, and after James had finally unearthed Blair's breeches from beneath the bed, they had both made their way to the kitchen to break their fast. With Simon, they ate and talked until half the morning had passed. 

Then Blair had asked to be shown the castle and how James lived. James had willingly showed Blair all he wished, explaining how the castle was only a temporary abode for him. It was a place he escaped to when his senses were uncooperative and he needed solitude. Otherwise, he admitted he sometimes found the castle a sad place. 

Blair was interested in James' senses and asked a thousand questions. James smiled in the dark. More like two thousand. By the end of the afternoon, James had practiced six or eight controlling techniques and responded to Blair's tests better than he'd ever dreamed he'd be able. He was thrilled, as was Blair. 

They both were thrilled, in fact, to find that they grew closer by the minute, both in mind and in body. After a filling supper, Simon left to his home in the countryside to care for the livestock, leaving James and Blair relaxed in front of the kitchen hearth, nibbling a cake Simon had baked. They talked when they felt the need. Otherwise, they drifted in companionable silence, happy to share the company. Finally, when the fire burned to a few fiery embers, James tugged his companion up the staircase and to the bed chamber. 

There, they undressed and with tender love, explored each other's bodies until they were both sated with pleasant exhaustion from pleasures shared. Now, several hours later, James lay under the blankets, content as he had never been before, and the reason slept at his elbow. 

Soft snores punctuated the air, and James cast a glance downward. Blair's long lashes fanned out against his cheeks. Bruises still colored the fair skin, making James clench his hands in anger. He breathed in and out several times before he opened his fists. Blair had insisted he promise that there be no retaliation for what had happened, and James had reluctantly agreed. All Blair asked was to be taken away from the village, and to share his life with James. To that, James had heartily agreed. 

James realized that he would agree to anything Blair wanted. Anything. With a silly grin plastered to his face, he recalled Blair's responses to his touch. Not only had James not had a lover for many years, he had never had a lover as eager as Blair. The few experiences in his life had been quick and not fulfilling, but Blair... 

James remembered every detail. How Blair had reacted to James' kisses. How he whimpered and how his hands clutched as James' tongue explored, tasted, touched. 

How Blair had shuddered in his arms. How he had pressed Blair onto the mattress and ran his tongue over every inch of his body. Blair thrashed and keened and demanded more. James' laugh caught in his throat at the sight of Blair splayed on the bed, cock full. How James' mouth felt around that rosy head and how his tongue stroked the hot flesh while his hands caressed Blair's chest and flanks. His thighs and sensitive sac. How Blair had silently arched up and emptied himself into James' mouth. Blair had tasted salty and bitter and oh so sweet at the same time. 

And James remembered how Blair had turned to his stomach and raised his hips, pleading for more. James had coated his cock with light oil, the scent of rose hips filling the room. The tightness, the heat, the beauty of the man impaled on his length as he lay beneath James, sobbing his pleasure as James took him gently, tenderly. Finally, how he couldn't hold back any longer, and how he had plunged into the sturdy body until it was too late to hold out any more. With a bellow, James had come, marking his companion as his own. And while he had taken Blair, James swore he heard the howl of a wolf and the roar of a wild cat. 

Afterward, they had lain entwined about each other, sharing languid kisses and soft words until sleep tugged at their bodies and they drifted off in the nest of furs they'd made. Sweetly held by love, James almost cried with the sheer rightness of it all before he had grinned and slept deeply for a time. Now, in the stillness of the night, he had risen to attend to his bladder and then returned to his lover. And again, he slept contentedly. 

*** 

The loud roar echoed in the confines of the bed chamber, and Blair was startled awake. He was out of the bed in moments, eyes wildly searching for the source of the dreadful sound. His gaze found James leaning out of the window, hands planted on either side of the casement, with his head thrown back. 

Sweat glistened on James' body and he trembled as he stood in the early morning sunlight. Blair was at his side in two strides, and he reached out. 

"James! Please, James! What's wrong?" 

"Make it stop!" James said, his voice harsh. "The smoke... The screams! Make them stop!" 

"James, come away!" Blair tugged on his arm, attempting to move James away from the window but to no avail. James clung too tightly to the window's frame, lost in his terrifying nightmare. "You're dreaming. There's no smoke, no screams. It happened a long time-" 

"I can hear them screaming!" James eyes were wide and his face pale. He turned suddenly, his hands reaching for Blair. 

Blair caught James as he fell, and he used his own body to cushion their descent. James' larger frame crushed him to the stone floor, but he ignored the weight and held the trembling man. "James, please. Shhh," he said comfortingly, "it will be all right. There is no-" 

"Hurts," James whispered, shuddering. "Please make it stop." 

"I- James?" Blair lifted his head and gave a sniff. "I smell smoke! Good God. Is it the castle?" Blair gently extricated himself from the arms of his lover. "James, let me fetch Simon. He'll know if something is wrong." Blair ran to the door and barely had time to call out when Simon appeared, running up the stairs as if the hounds of Hell nipped at his heels. 

"Simon!" 

"The village!" Simon shouted. 

"What? James said he smelled smoke." 

Simon nodded as he brushed past Blair to race to James' side. "The village is under attack." 

"Oh, God. The village?" Blair echoed, stunned. 

"Yes," Simon said rushing to look out the window. 

"So James did smell smoke. He heard the screams." Blair knelt down next to James, wrapped his hands around a bicep and began to tug. "Come on. Let's get you up." 

Blair helped his lover to his feet. "Relax, my love. Concentrate. You can control your senses. Remember our exercises." 

"Yes," James said roughly. He stood on unsteady feet for a few moments before he nodded. "I'm better." Touching their foreheads together, James took a deep, calming breath. "Thank you. For a moment, I was overwhelmed." 

Blair kept a hand on James' arm and slipped another around his waist. "You are doing very well. It has only been a few days since we began to practice." 

"Thank you," James said, slipping an arm across Blair's shoulders. He glanced at Simon. "What's going on?" 

"Can he observe the village from this distance?" Simon asked, glancing at James. 

"Yes, he can. Trust yourself, James. You can do this." 

James' gaze held Blair's for a moment before he gave a curt nod and moved from his lover's embrace. At the window, Blair joined him, cupping James' elbow in his hand. 

"Just let it flow, James. Your eyesight. Your hearing. Gently, they will do as you wish. Don't force them, use them as an enhancement. A tool. Focus." James again nodded and as Blair watched, his jaw muscle jumped. "What do you see? What can you hear?" 

"Screams. Horses. I... There are ten, eleven mounted men. They are attacking the village. Several buildings are burning... A woman is screaming..." James paused before his hands clenched. "It's Quinn! That bastard's back!" 

"Dawson Quinn?" Simon echoed. 

"Oh no!" Blair said. "He's a killer. The people in the village… I have to help them!" 

Blair started to dress when Simon said, "After what they did to you, you'd help them?" 

Blair pulled his tunic over his head. "Just because the villagers are cowards, doesn't mean I am. I will help them because it's the right thing to do." He tugged on the boots James had given him earlier and tossed a cloak over his shoulders. It was a bit big, but it would do. "I must help them." 

"He's right," James said. "The villagers are cowards, but Quinn is a murderer. I'll help as well." 

Simon glanced from one man to the other. "Count me in." 

Blair gave James a loving glance and a quick kiss before he nodded curtly and raced from the room with Simon and James at his heels. 

*** 

"Tell me, what is the plan?" Simon asked as they outfitted themselves with pikes and blades from the old store room. 

Blair hefted a thick sword before he tossed it aside in favor of a small blade. He was willing to wound, but he didn't know if he could kill, even to save his own life. Even to save the life of his lover. But he would fight to his death, he vowed silently. 

James caught his eye and gave him an encouraging nod, which he returned. 

"Blair, you and Simon will cause a distraction. I will use the bow and arrow, and disable Quinn. His men are cowards without his guidance. Once he falls, they will disband." 

Blair put a hand on James' arm. "May your arrow shoot straight and true, Sentinel." 

"I will first attempt to wound. If Quinn does not yield, then I will kill if I must," James said. 

"I know," Blair said quietly. "I'm ready." 

"So am I," James responded, leaning down to place a swift kiss on Blair's mouth. "I love you." 

"And I you," Blair said seriously. "Simon, lead on." 

With a cold grin, Simon led the way. 

*** 

The smoke burned his eye while the screams of the villagers pained his ears. Blair couldn't stand the slaughter any longer. Simon's admonishment to him that he was to stay behind the retaining wall was quickly forgotten. He could fight. He would fight! He rose from the safety of the wall and stood in full view of the attacking band. Most were too busy to notice him as they raced to and fro, hacking at the male villagers with swords or sweeping the females up onto their horses to be whisked away for ravishment and slavery. 

Blair's hand clenched a good-size rock in his right hand and took careful aim, then let loose. It struck one of the riders directly in the center of his back. The man lurched forward, yet was not unseated from his mount. 

The marauder's horse turned swiftly and the man's angry eyes found Blair, still standing with his arm pulled back, another missile at the ready. An evil grin crossed the dirty face, and Blair knew instantly that he had been fortunate in his aim. Or unfortunate. This was the leader of the band: the dreaded Dawson Quinn. The man who was responsible for the deaths of James' family and for his lover's many years of unhappy misery. 

Quinn raised his sword and kicked his mount. The horse lunged forward at his command. Blair felt his heart pound even louder and his throat dried. He blinked the smoke away and with careful aim, hurled another rock at his attacker. Quinn ducked at the last minute and the rock sailed over his head. He rose in his saddle, gave a whoop of victory and swung his blade. 

Blair dove behind wall, throwing himself onto the ground. Quinn's horse jumped the wall and skidded to a halt amidst a cloud of dust. Blair found his feet, clenched his small blade and spun around to face Quinn head on. Quinn turned his animal and once again charged straight for Blair. 

Blair's thin blade met Quinn's and with a clang, flew from his hand when the larger blade crashed into his. Pain radiated up his arm as his wrist snapped back. He fell to one knee and cried out, cradling his wrist against his chest. Quinn raised his sword for the killing blow when an arrow suddenly embedded itself in his shoulder. Quinn screamed and fell back from his horse, and he writhed in the dirt, crying out in pain. 

Quinn's men saw their leader fall. One by one, they glanced at him and each other before they dropped their own blades, or dismounted and stood, looking unsure of their orders. The villagers moved in, quickly gathering themselves into a circle around the marauders while the now-rescued women hugged and wept in each other's arms. 

"Blair!" 

James raced across the village center and came to Blair's side. Blair saw the anger in that chiseled face and he tried to smile through the pain. 

"I'm all right," Blair soothed, getting to his feet. "Just a scratch." 

James nodded, turned on his heel and approaching Quinn. Pressing the tip of his blade to Quinn's throat, he demanded, "Do you yield?" 

Quinn's eyes narrowed and remained silent. The tip pressed in, and he hissed in pain, the blood welled in the cut. "Y-yes. I yield." 

"You will leave this land and never return." James glared at Quinn. "This village is under my protection. Do you agree to my terms or do you die now?" 

Blair almost smiled when he saw the wetness appear at Quinn's crotch. The man was a bully when his victims were untrained villagers. When faced with a lethal enemy of more skill and cunning, Quinn was a coward. 

"Answer me!" James commanded, pressing harder. More blood oozed to the surface of Quinn's skin, flowing freely from the wound. 

"Yes!" Quinn cried, blubbering. "I agree!" 

James removed the sword, but still held it out in front of him. "You have two minutes to take your men and leave. And do not try to take your horses or weapons. Be out of the borders of Cascadia by sunset or die. Go!" 

Quinn staggered to his feet and lurched forward. Two of his band grabbed his arms and dragged him out of the village. 

"Simon, follow them and be sure they cross the river. Then set a watch for the next fortnight just to be sure." 

"Yes, Your Highness." Simon touched his forelock, grinning. 

"Do you wish to be demoted?" James growled. 

"To what? Cook? Stable boy? Laundress? Too late, my friend." With a deep chuckle, Simon strode off and two of the village men followed him when he waved at them to join him. 

James turned to Blair, who leaned against the wall, his wrist held tightly to his chest. 

"Are you all right?" 

"Me?" Blair said with a shaky smile. "I'm wonderful." He nodded, and promptly fainted. 

*** 

"Am I destined to spend my life in your bed, naked?" 

"One can only hope and dream," James responded, smiling into the blue eyes that had finally opened. "I have set your wrist and wrapped it to keep the bones in a position to properly heal, so lie still and quiet." 

"It doesn't hurt -- much." 

James smiled. "Lift your head slowly and drink this. The herb will aid with the pain and help you sleep. Here, I will help you." 

Blair obediently drank from the cup that James held. He licked his lips. "Thank you, James." He yawned and gave a quiet sigh. "Don't want to sleep. Want to talk," he said drowsily. 

"You can barely keep your eyes open, Blair my love. Now stop fighting the herb and sleep." 

"Stay with me?" 

"Always," James said, stroking his lover's hair. "I will always be with you." 

"My Sentinel." 

"You are my life." James leaned forward and placed a kiss to Blair's forehead. "My trusted companion." 

Blair blinked at him with sleepy eyes. "Lie with me." 

James smiled and slipped into the bed, resting against Blair's uninjured side. "Come." James tucked Blair's head on his shoulder and wrapped an arm around the slender waist. "My lover," he said, bestowing Blair with another kiss, this time to the top of his head. 

"Talk to me," Blair said, snuggling closer against James. 

"You are such a silly child." James chuckled softly, tucking a few strands of hair behind Blair's ear. "What do you wish me to speak of?" 

"Anything. Like hearing your voice." 

James couldn't keep the smile from his face. "It is a fine day. The breeze has cleansed the air of the smoke. The villagers have started to clean their town, erasing all traces of the attack. I think they will be all right." 

"Hmmmm..." 

"Sleep." James was rewarded with Blair's body relaxing against his as he drifted into a deep sleep. James sighed with contentment and allowed his own eyes to drift shut. 

*** 

"James!" 

James' eyes flew open. Simon hovered over the bed, lantern in hand. "What is it? More trouble?" 

"No," Simon whispered. "But something you should see." 

With a nod, James slipped out from under his slumbering companion and rose. He wrapped his long robe around his shoulders then followed Simon down the stone stairs to the main entryway to the castle. Simon pulled open the thick wooden door and said, "Take a look." 

James stepped out onto the wide flagstone courtyard and paused, his eyes glancing at what lie there. Baskets and barrels and bundles. James stepped closer. There was flour and wheat, and fresh baked bread. A small cask of beer, two lengths of thick cloth. Several bunches of freshly picked wild flowers, and a basket or two containing fresh and dried herbs. There was even a cage with several live fowl. All was the best the meager village had to offer. 

James looked to Simon then back to the bounty before him. "The villagers," James realized. 

"They've sent a message, it seems. Without being threatened and with gladness, I would say. It's about time." 

"They are apologizing, Asking forgiveness." James said, astounded. "Sending thanks." 

"So it seems," Simon acknowledged. "Will you accept?" 

James stared down at the offering for a long while before he glanced up at the castle. Finally, he turned his gaze to Simon. "I will. We all have suffered enough." 

"And you have what you want now." 

James smiled at Simon. "I do. He is all that I could want, and more." 

"Then it is done." 

"It is. Come. Let's get this lot into the storeroom. It wouldn't be polite to let the goods spoil." 

"You are a good man, James." Simon's large hand thumped him on his back. 

"And you are a good friend, Simon." James reached out his hand, took hold of Simon's arm and gave it a light squeeze. "How about we break into that cask of beer?" He grinned. 

Simon laughed deeply. "I thought you would never ask." 

And they all lived happily ever after… 

The End 

**Author's Note:**

> Ankaree started this story many years ago. She dusted it off for the final My Mongoose Ezine and asked me to come along for the ride. I had a good time revisiting Jim and Blair again. 
> 
> Originally posted in [My Mongoose Ezine Many Chapters of The Sentinel 8](http://www.mymongoose.com/chap8/cover.htm). 
> 
> This story was beta'd by Annie. Credit to 'The Bride And The Beast' by Teresa Medeiros for the story idea.


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